


The Gauntlet

by CaptainSchmoe



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (no rape actually happens), Amputation, Blood, Burns, Creepy Sexual Undertones, Disembowelment, Drowning, Eaten alive, Eye Trauma, Facial Trauma, Fear of Rape, Gen, Gore, Gorn Without Plot, Gunshot Wounds, Horror, Mind Control, Mouth trauma, Stabbing, Torture, Vomiting, downer ending, hand trauma, knee trauma, pissing oneself, swarms of rats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSchmoe/pseuds/CaptainSchmoe
Summary: Dark and Anti have Mark and Jack hostage and are forcing them to face off against each other in “the Gauntlet”, a series of three brutal challenges, while subjecting them to violent punishments if they break any rules. Winner kills loser. Think of it likeSurvivormeetsSaw.Alternative summary: Dark and Anti discipline bad boys.JANUARY 26, 2019 UPDATE: I have (finally) begun to make revisions to Chapter 4 and will do Chapter 3 next. Chapter 5 is getting there, I just had to figure out a good idea I liked for it. ^^





	1. Nothing to Lose

**Author's Note:**

> What better way to show how much you love a duo of Youtubers than to write a story about them being tortured by their evil alter egos?
> 
> A lot of ways. So, so many ways.

Mark’s mouth was beyond dry. The socks wadded up and packed in there absorbed every last drop of spit he made, and made his jaw feel like it was about to break off. His legs were sore and stiff from having been on his knees, on slate flooring, for God only knows how long. He’d grown numb to the brisk draft blowing through and covering his marred and partially exposed skin in goose bumps. His wrists, tied tightly behind his back, were raw. They were probably bleeding. He’d tried to discreetly free himself of them, to no avail, only being immediately noticed and receiving one of Anti’s claw-lashings on the back for his efforts, and prompting Anti to sit directly in front of him and Jack on the other side of the bars, always there, always watching. His stomach was hollow to the point where it no longer growled, and instead merely made him feel like vomiting. His bladder was ready to burst at the seams, and it didn’t look like he was going to have much of a choice on the matter of where he emptied it.

Jack didn’t fare much better. He’d been lying on his side the whole time, rolling over and back again to relieve pressure from any singular spot, wearing the same socks gag, the same heavy-duty rope bindings, and similar deep and open wounds on his right arm, dirtied with dust and debris off the floor. His stringy hair stuck to his forehead, damp from sweat or the surrounding humidity. He shook his head every now and then to get it out of his eyes, which had long since run themselves dry of tears.

Mark readjusted himself, collapsing onto his side as well, facing away from Jack and Anti and curling his body so as to hide what he was about to do. His legs cramped - not that straightening them was much of an issue at that point.

_Sigh..._

Finally relieving himself was the only good feeling in existence, and even then, it only lasted a moment, and came accompanied with disgust with himself. Even the ensuing warmth against his thighs was quickly replaced by the cold clamminess of the air. He heard Anti stirring again, the sounds of metal scraping against stone. Did he know what just happened? He’d see the aftermath, at least. So would Jack. Mark shouldn’t be ashamed of it - what else was he supposed to do? - but he couldn’t help feeling ashamed anyway that he had to stoop so low. He felt like an animal - no, that was being too kind. Animals at least got to either run free or live in people’s cushy houses. At least, they should, and most did.

No, this was definitely way more like being a slave, caged away behind bars in the pit of the castle dungeon - with only a gagged Jack, a watchful Anti, and the occasional roach or rat running by to keep him company - only to come out when his services were needed. Though, there  _were_  tiny windows lining the top of the wall, right up against the ceiling, displaying behind them blue skies of freedom and normality, teasing him, tormenting him.

Mark couldn’t even remember what had happened in the hours before being imprisoned here. And since they were both gagged, he couldn’t adequately communicate with Jack and see what he knew, either. Anti gave them no answers. All he did was hum strange songs or chatter to himself, or scrape at the ground, or, if Mark or Jack tried to do anything he apparently didn’t approve of, whisk through the bars and slash at them.

The sight of Jack fidgeting around in the corner of his eye caught Mark’s attention again. It seemed like Jack was desperately trying to get as comfortable as he could in such a situation. He settled down for a bit on his stomach, though it was obvious the way the wad of socks was pushing against the insides of his mouth that it wasn’t really working out for him. His eyes were shut during most of his struggle. Was he trying to sleep? Being on his side was the most viable option, but even then, he had to keep his shoulder bent back, such that he couldn’t rest his head flat on the ground. Had Mark not just pissed all over himself, he would have offered his leg as a pillow. Now he  _really_  felt guilty.

 Jack’s eyes opened after the little squeaks of another rat rang through the pit, gaze directed squarely towards the source. His stomach gurgled loud enough for Mark to hear. Jeez. Seemed like there was plenty of disgust and shame to go around.

Then again, at that point, Mark would eat just about anything, too.

Footsteps reverberated down the staircase outside the cell, the slow and professional  _clack, clack, clack_  of dress shoes that Mark knew belonged to the man whose presence made his blood run cold. Indeed, Darkiplier’s wavering, monochrome form trailed after the sound, hands clasped behind his back as he descended and approached the three of them. Neither Mark nor Jack made a peep, though Mark heard and felt his own pulse pounding in his ears.

“Well, look who’s back!” Anti declared. “‘Bout time! Look at my picture, Dark.” He jabbed the knife into the floor in front of him.

Hands still behind his back, Dark - practically a giant from this angle - ignored Anti and looked down at Mark, then to Jack.

“Wow, rude. I made it for you, you know.”

" _Hush_ ,” Dark scolded him. Then, he said calmly and gently to Mark and Jack: “I think you two have been in here long enough. Don’t you?”

Unable to speak, Mark merely glared and grumbled at him. Jack remained silent.

“I know. You’re suffering. I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

Mark screamed through the socks.  _Fuck off!_  Did Dark seriously believe the man who designed him and knew him inside and out was going to fall for this bullshit?

“I know, Mark. You don’t trust me, and you don’t want to trust me. I’ve accepted that.”

 _No._  No matter what Dark was going to try and get them to do, Mark was going to refuse.

“But let’s see how your friend here feels.” Dark phased through the bars and knelt down next to Jack’s face, gingerly tilting up his head by the chin. “Your name is Jack, right?”

Jack only gave a frightened and muffled cry, chest heaving.

“I have two options for you. In the first, I provide you and Mark with an objectively comfortable room, free of both of your bindings, meeting your needs as adequately as they have been met in your normal life, and even allowing you a chance at leaving this place.”

“Better option!” Anti chirped.

“In the second, you and Mark stay here, in this prison, in your current state, left to rot and die, and in your stead, I will choose two other individuals to send to your room.”

“Worse option!”

Jack took an anxious glance at Mark, who was vehemently shaking his head. Dark growled, and Anti swiftly moved to cover Mark’s eyes and nose and pin his head down.

“No one asked for your input!” he spat into Mark’s ear.

“Indeed. I’m sorry about that, Jack. Please give your honest response. Would you choose the first option? Yes or no?”

 _Jack, no!_  Mark struggled and squirmed, getting Anti’s claws buried in his face, two of them piercing through his cheek and touching his teeth. He didn’t care. They could beat the shit out of him, they could force him to breathe his hot, reused air as much they wanted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to cave in.

He heard Dark softly laughing to himself. “Your friend seems to disagree with you.”

“ _Ooohhh_ , dissent among the ranks!” Anti released Mark’s face, allowing him to see Jack again.

_No no no no no..._

Jack’s face was flat. He didn’t protest what Dark and Anti were saying. Did that mean he actually, truly said yes?  _Fucking why, Jack? Don’t tell me you trust this asshole!_

“Well, we seem to have reached an impasse.” Dark stood back up, hands clasping behind his back yet again, like they always do. “Perhaps we could bring Jack upstairs, and leave Mark here, if that’s what each of them desires. There are plenty of other people close to them, I’m sure, who could serve as a replacement for Mark.”

_Replacement!?_

“I wanna see Jack fight that Robin guy!” Anti said, bouncing in place. “That’d be fun!”

Mark screamed again and violently shook his head in protest. No, no, no, if it meant that other people were going to get dragged into instead, there was no way he was going to stay here. Goddammit, he didn’t want to have to cave in to Darkiplier!

“You seem to show displeasure at the notion of being replaced.”

“Aw, man! So’s he gonna go upstairs after all? I  _just_  started looking forward seeing the Robs up close and personal.” Anti stuck out his bottom lip.

“I take it that means you’re changed your mind?”

Mark scowled.

“Answer me. Yes or no.”

Oh, he’d answer yes, but not without an eye roll and another grumble to indicate his “displeasure.”

“That attitude won’t get you very far here, Mark.”

Wow. What, was Dark now pretending to be the dad around here?

Anti sprung up. “I’ll take this one!” He grabbed Jack, flinging him up into the air and catching him on his shoulder, Jack grunting as he landed. “The other one’s too heavy for me, Dark.”

Dark sighed. “You don’t have to carry him...” He grabbed Mark by the shoulders, forcing him to stand upright. His legs still felt a little stiff, and he felt wobbly on them, and now everyone was going to plainly see the enormous wet spot, but at least he could kind of use them. “Walk.”

Anti used his claw to unlock the cell from inside, and the four made way for the staircase. Mark’s legs ached with every step. They didn’t want to do the work of climbing up the stairs, and  _oh boy, there’s a lot of ‘em_. Now he kind of wished Dark did carry him.

"Walk.”

Instead, he’d have to settle with being shoved and kicked along to the point of tripping and falling and banging his chin.

“Do you need me to make this easier for you?”

 _What would that entail?_  But suddenly, Mark felt light. Like he wasn’t there, and was instead just watching himself climb up the stairs. The aches and pains were gone. So was any sort of sensation, really. His eyes unfocused, and the clear outlines of the stones on the walls blurred together into a backdrop of solid gray, with a shapeless mass of pinkish light at the top.

 

* * *

 

“Nngh.”

Mark awoke on a soft surface, feeling... free and comfortable. A bed. There was nothing in his mouth - he touched it to make extra sure. And his hands weren’t bound. His clothes were intact; his pants were dry. So was his mouth. Water, water, he needed water,  _stat_. He sat up -

\- and froze.

This wasn’t his bedroom. Or any room he recognized. This looked more like a hotel room. Soft, pastel pink and gray walls, white bedsheets, a window opening out to the midday, buttless sky to his right, a weird silver panel with a handle on the wall in front of him, and a second bed about ten feet to his left, with Jack and Dark sitting on it - oh.

_Oh._

“Rise and shine,” Dark said with a smile. The light from another window behind him gave him an ethereal glow around the edges of his figure.

“Didja get a good nap?” chimed a voice behind Mark, startling him. Anti, hiding between his bed and the wall. He was bouncing and beaming at him, one fang poking out from under his lip. He laughed. “Hope so! You were gross!”

“Very.”

Mark was suddenly hit with the same agonizing hollowness in his gut earlier. Still needed to eat. Guess everything that happened  _was_  real... but something was still off, and he couldn’t help but stare...

Jack wasn’t right. He  _definitely_  had more injuries earlier. But now all of his skin was clear and healed without so much as a single scar. And his fun, silly clothes, the flamingo shorts, they were replaced with plain gray sweats, and his feet were bare. Now that he’d noticed, Mark was likewise wearing sweats, though his were navy blue. They felt form-fitting. Not tight, but they definitely hugged his torso and legs and arms.

And Jack’s face. When was the last time Mark had ever seen such profound  _emptiness_  on his face? He didn’t even seem sad. Just... dead inside. The light in his eyes was gone, and he stared through Mark, rarely blinking. His arms, legs, and feet kept completely still. Jack was one of the most animated people on Earth. To see him perfectly motionless and silent, especially sitting so close to Darkiplier - with Dark's hand resting on top of his, _shudder_ \- was beyond unnerving. It was as if Dark had sucked out his soul. He... didn’t, did he? “The fuck’d you do to Jack?”

Dark acted puzzled. “We dressed, healed, fed, and watered him. And now that you’re awake after having passed out while we were dressing you, we can give you food and drink as well. Is that wrong?”

“Well, no,  _that’s_  not wrong, it’s just...” Mark was slightly distracted by Anti crawling across his bed and dangling his head and arms over the edge. “...I have this  _sneaking_  suspicion there’s something you’re deliberately not telling me. Look at him! He’s hardly moving at all.”

“My boy...” Dark rose, grinning and shaking his head at Mark. “You like to think you’re on top of things, don’t you?” He cocked his head in a gesture towards a piece of paper taped to the wall next to the door. “Over there you’ll see the rules you need to follow here. Read them carefully. I’ll take my leave.” Dark locked eyes with Mark for one last moment as he took the doorknob, and made a kiss at him, one corner of his lips turning up in the tiniest sly smirk as he did so. A shiver coursed down Mark’s spine.

Anti rolled onto his back after the door clicked shut, still dangling. “Yup. Dark’s got his bets on  _yoo-uu~_.” He poked a claw into Mark’s thigh. Good God, as if he wasn’t uncomfortable already. Anti slid off the edge of the bed, getting up to leave as well. “You gonna read the rules? Better do that before you get hurt.” A childish giggle, and four fingers held in the air. “Rule #4: Ignorance of the rules is no excuse for escaping punishment! So I’ll leave you to do that! See ya!”

_Slam._

Well. That happened.

Mark took another glance at the paper on the wall, pushing himself off the bed to retrieve it, legs creaking and knees cracking on the way there. He caught Jack suddenly stirring, blinking hard and seeming to come back into consciousness.

“You all right?”

“Huh? Oh, you’re awake. The hell are you wearing?” He glanced around the room. He noticed his own clothes, tugging on the front of his shirt. “The hell am  _I_  wearing?”

“Jack, we’ve both been awake for several minutes.” Dark definitely did something to him. “Do you remember anything that just happened?”

“I... I don’t know, man.” The confusion on Jack’s face was absolutely genuine. “It feels like I just had a dream I can only vaguely remember.”

Mark pulled the rules off the wall. “What _do_ you remember?”

“Uh... Just, like, scenes and stuff? Like, I remember walking up here very clearly. You were super out of it, too, during the last few steps up, before you fell asleep.”

Mark lay back down on his bed, lying on his side, still listening to Jack.

“And then you went to sleep, and that’s when everything started getting blurry for me. I vaguely remember them changing me out of my old clothes, and feeding me something, I don’t remember what. Something warm and delicious, surprisingly.” He caught sight of the paper in front of Mark. “Sorry, I should probably let you read those. They’re really important. And also fucking terrifying.”

“...All right.” If Jack was done talking, then he supposed he should probably get down to reading whatever bullshit this was.

_**\- Rules of the Gauntlet -** _

"The Gauntlet"? Well, that sounded like a horrible place to be.

  1. _You will be competing against the other person with you in this room in three challenges. We, Darkiplier and Antisepticeye, will determine the winner, both for each challenge and overall. The losing challenger will die in the Gauntlet at the hands of the winning challenger._



Already off to a not-good start. Jack wasn’t kidding.

  1. _Breaking any of these rules results in a punishment issued at our discretion. The nature of the punishment, as well as who administers it, will be decided on a case-by-case basis._
  2. _Knowingly exploiting loopholes found within these rules will result in immediate closure of the loophole and a punishment._
  3. _Rules may be added or modified at any time. Make sure you review these rules periodically to ensure you do not inadvertently break them. Ignorance of the rules is no excuse for escaping punishment._
  4. _It is imperative that you perceive the other person with you in this room as your rival, opponent, enemy, or similar while in the Gauntlet. You are not to think of them as your friend or ally._



Mark’s heart sank. Already, he could see where this was going. Dark and Anti wanted to  _break_  them, to punch them where it hurt the most. They were going to have to hurt each other.

Should he save Jack, or himself? Under normal circumstances, he’d choose anyone else - even a stranger, but especially a friend - over himself in a heartbeat. But somehow, he felt there was a massive catch. Somehow, he felt that the winner wasn’t going to fare any better than the loser - perhaps, even worse. But what if Dark and Anti knew that Mark would look into it that deeply, and prepare for it? They  _would_  know something like that, wouldn’t they? But what if they knew he’d look  _that_  deeply into it, and prepare for that?

 _Argh!_  What should he do? Win or lose? Which was the more merciful option? Was there even such a thing?

  1. _You will be under constant visual and auditory supervision. Your behavior outside of the challenges can and will impact your status as the overall winner or loser._
  2. _You are not to leave this room without an escort from either of us._
  3. _You are not to plan, plot, or otherwise attempt or encourage any sort of harmful action against either of us._
  4. _You are not to plan, plot, or otherwise attempt or encourage unauthorized escape from the Gauntlet._
  5. _**You are not to discuss any topics pertaining to the challenges while in this room.**  Punishment for breaking this rule is especially severe._



That one was weird. Why couldn’t they do that? It would probably become more apparent once the challenges actually happened.

  1. _Individual challenge rules will be verbally explained prior to the challenge’s commencement, and may be changed (with a verbal announcement) at any time. We, as a pair, will only explain each set of rules and any changes to them once._
  2. _Punishments accrued during a challenge are administered in either this room or the Clinic (whichever is more fitting) when the challenge is finished. We will provide all the tools and equipment necessary to administer them as needed, and will take them back when you are finished._
  3. _If you are to administer or receive a punishment, you must do as you are told immediately upon request. Failure to do so within a reasonable time frame will result in the use of enticement._



Enticement. In other words, blackmail. Jesus, the hell was this sadistic game?

  1. _**You are not to speak to either of us unless we initiate conversation with you, nor are you to change the topic of conversation while speaking to us.***  Punishment for breaking this rule is especially severe._



The asterisk led to a note at the bottom which read: _* Exception: For any questions regarding these rules, especially with regards to their clarity, refer to either of us._

  1. _Persistent failure to follow the rules will result in premature termination from the Gauntlet, followed by a replacement made at our discretion._



A replacement. Like what Anti said earlier, when he said he wanted to see Jack face off against Robin if Mark refused to do it himself. But who would replace them if they didn’t follow the rules? Who did they select from? Would they pick just any random people on Planet Earth or would they limit the pool to people they know would pain the two of them to be chosen?

The possibility that either of them could be replaced with Amy frightened and disgusted him.

Mark read over the rules again and again, burning them into his brain. God, there were so many. Don’t talk to Dark or Anti. Don’t change the subject when talking to them - that’s the one that was gonna get him, for sure. Don’t try to escape. Don’t refuse punishment. Don’t do this, don’t do that. Don’t do anything. There was no way he was going to remember all this and never get punished. Or Jack, for that matter. They were both the worst at remembering stuff.

And what were the punishments? What were the challenges? Why the hell were they even being forced to do this in the first place? Sick amusement? Or some ulterior motive that he was sure they weren’t going to tell them until the very last minute when it was too late?

The door slammed open again, as if Anti could detect that Mark was close to done reading. “So didja get all the rules memorized?”

“Uh, maybe?”

“You better turn that ‘maybe’ in to a ‘yes.’ Sooner rather than later.” He dashed up to Mark, making him jump and gasp, and flicked his rusty-splattered knife under his chin. His eyes shifted to pitch black, each with a little white speck. The first time he actually tried to look menacing since they’ve arrived. “If you know what’s best for you.”

_...You know what? This is bullshit._

“Why do we gotta follow your rules anyway?”

Anti’s eyes reverted to normal, and he reeled back, shocked and appalled that Mark had the nerve to challenge him.

Jack protested. “Mark, don’t.”

“No, nuh-uh, I’m gonna ask them what we’re doing this for. I ain’t afraid of no punishment!”

“ _Dark!”_  Anti yelled towards the door. “One of ‘em’s being aggressive!”

“Oh, sure, go tattle on me to Daddy.”

“Mark, you fucking idiot, stop!” Jack bolted out of his bed and ran up to him, shoving his hand in his face in an attempt to shut him up. The door flinging open again startled them both. Dark’s face was scrunched, and his muscles tensed.

“I see we need to add a rule about talking back to us.”

“Already on it!” Anti yanked the paper out of Mark’s hand.

“Rule #16,” Dark stated. “You are not to display verbal or physical disrespect or aggression towards myself or Anti.”

Anti scrawled the words down with his claw. There must have been some sort of ink or ichor that came out from them.

“Oh, and if I do?” Mark challenged, ignoring Jack. “What are you gonna do to me, huh?”

“Mark! Fucking  _stop_!” Jack slapped him hard across the cheek. “Shut the fuck up! You’re gonna get us both killed, probably!”

“We don’t kill,” Dark said. “We only give pain. That is all. Death is not a form of discipline to the offender. It is a threat to keep persons from offending. But even then, death does not serve the purpose of the Gauntlet at all. In fact, we will do everything in our power to keep you alive.”

“Oh,” Mark retorted. “What a relief.”

“Your punishment...” Dark opened the panel on the wall, pulling it out like a drawer. “Ah. Here we go.” He pulled out a short, cylindrical tin and handed it to Anti. “This will do. Now both of you, come with me.”

“Ooh! Ooh! This is exciting!” Anti was practically vibrating with glee at the prospect of forcing Mark to experience whatever was inside the tin. Stuff that made a metallic clanging and rattling.

“How come I’m coming along?” Jack asked. “Am I being punished, too?”

“If you view it as such, perhaps. Think of it more like learning your lesson secondhand.” Dark opened the door. The outside was pitch black. “Stay close to me, you two.” He extended his arms back towards them. He wasn’t seriously expecting them to hold his hands, was he?

...He was, wasn’t he.

Mark wanted to refuse. Dark was creepy enough as is  _without_  them touching each other. But he saw Jack take Dark’s forearm. Not like he looked pleased about it, either. Reluctantly, Mark followed suit.

“The path winds,” Dark said. “There are drop-offs, stairs, and slopes. I will keep you safe.”

_Eugh._

The door behind them shut with a _clunk_ echoing into the abyss, and the blackness swallowed him whole. The only certainty of existence was Dark’s forearm pulling and guiding him along the right path, like an owner tugging his dog’s leash.

“Stairs,” he warned them, slowing down before their descent. Curiosity led Mark to reach his free hand out to the side, groping for a handrail. There was none. Maybe the staircase was just that wide, or maybe it was one of those drop-offs they were warned about.

“Right.”

Dark’s arm nudged in front of Mark, wracking his nerves. Where were these goddamn drop-offs at? The last direction he wanted to go right now was right! That was towards the edge! But... _Agh..._ He had to trust Dark to not launch him into the abyss. As much as he hated to admit it. It wasn’t like Mark knew the layout of whatever they were walking on. His brain was just trying to build a world that didn’t exist.

Anti was humming some song Mark didn’t recognize. Something upbeat, simple, and repetitive, reminiscent of a children’s playground tune. Perhaps it was a real song and he just couldn’t identify it by name. Or maybe Anti was making it up as he went along. He had also started hopping down the stairs, as well, in time to his song, making the tin clang and rattle with each jump. At no point did he ever lose his balance. Man, how could they see? To be fair, Mark himself was able to see a faint sliver of light just farther below. Not nearly enough to release his hold on this despicable being’s arm. Probably they had some kind of special vision. Wouldn’t surprise him.

At this rate, Anti’s song was going to get stuck in his head.

“You two are unusually quiet.”

“Well,” Mark answered straightly, “we’re in an unusual situation.”

Dark hummed. “I just thought you might have some curious questions. But if you have none, I won’t press you.”

Asking questions was the reason they were going down there in the first place. Mark proudly declared earlier that he wasn’t afraid of punishment. But now, seeing the white light of what was definitely the “Clinic” not far ahead now, his nerves started to fire more and more frantically with each advancing step.

“I feel your anxiety, both of you. Don’t worry. Since this is your first time, the punishment we have chosen is relatively lax. It is to be viewed more as discipline. Teaching you a lesson, if you will.”

The light, now at the same level as they, made Mark squint. A crack between a pair of door. Relatively lax, huh? Relative to what, though? Could have been relative to having to tear off one of his own limbs and it would still hurt like a bitch.

Dark let go of his arm -  _thank God_  - and pushed open one of the doors, revealing a perfectly normal, up-to-code hospital operating room. He smiled as he held the door open for them, like a gentleman. “Go on.”

Pristine, sterile white walls. Sleek floors and counters. The few small devices and equipment Mark could see were kept in sealed, sterile packages. There were probably a lot more hidden behind the cabinet doors and supply cart drawers. The only thing missing was surgical attire for the group of them, which he figured they’d forego. Honestly better than the more stereotypical, gritty, mad scientist’s dungeon lab he was expecting.

Jack stopped about ten feet into the room, clearly anxious about what was to come. His eyes never remained focused on any singular spot.

“Okay, you two.” Dark closed the door behind himself and Anti. “It’s time to get started. Mark, you must lie on the operating table.”

Mark saw Jack mouthing  _don’t refuse_. He wasn’t going to. Maybe if he cooperated, they’d go easier on him.

His anxiety lifted as he approached the table and climbed on top. Four belt-like restraints dangled from the points where they would be wrapped around his wrists and ankles, plus a fifth large loop around where his head would go. After lying flat, Dark came to strap him down. It was odd, how gentle he was, how pleasant the brush of his hands against his legs, his arms, his head was. He even ruffled his hair a bit, chuckling to himself.

And it was gone as soon as it came. His world and mind cleared itself, and the anxiety was back. He was  _trapped_. Why did he... He  _enjoyed_  Dark being there for a moment, didn’t he? Oh, God, Dark did something to him, didn’t he? Was there something he erased from his memory? What did he do to him? What did he do to Jack?

_What the fuck?_

“Thank you, Mark. Now, Anti...”

He heard the jangling of the tin. Anti and Jack were just in range of Mark’s vision. Anti was giving it to him. Trying to, anyway. Jack didn’t want it.

“The fuck?”

“Here you go!” Anti shoved the tin into Jack’s chest, prompting his arms to take it anyway. “I’m not doing it.”

“Well,  _I’m_  not doing whatever’s in there! Why do you want  _me_  to do it?”

“It’s more of a punishment,” Dark interjected, “and a lesson for both of you, if it is administered by a person whom the offender views positively rather than negatively.” He placed a hand on Jack’s back. “Go on. You have ten minutes.”

Mark’s heart started pounding up into his throat. He didn’t think... He didn’t think that Jack would have to...

He fucked up. And now Jack was going to hate him. He knew it. Even if Mark took whatever the punishment was like a man, who knew how scarred Jack was going to be from this?

Jack took the lid off the tin, his hands visibly trembling. His jaw dropped in horror as he saw what was inside. “Oh, no... Oh, no...! I have to sew your mouth shut?”

_Pang._

Jack turned to Dark, frantic, pleading. His only response: “Nine minutes.”

“Oh, fuck...” Jack’s breathing turned quick and shallow. He picked up a long, thick needle sealed in a flat plastic package and a spool of pitch black thread from the tin. As he started to open the package, Dark swooped in to stop him.

“Now, hold on. You don’t want it getting infected now, do you? Look at what else is in the kit.” He pointed his finger to the tin, Jack’s eyes following. “You have an antiseptic in-”

“That’s me!”

 **Pound.**   _Rattle._   ** _“Shut up!”_**

“Hehehehe!”

Mark had to admit that was actually pretty funny. He couldn’t hold back his grin. Jack didn’t look quite as amused. Terrified, actually.

Dark snarled, and sighed in irritation. “You have rubbing alcohol. Use it. The needle is sterile, too.” He walked away, adding, “Eight minutes. Time is of the essence. Mark, I suggest you stop smiling if you want this to go smoothly.”

Anxiety still infesting his face, Jack pulled out the small bottle – along with a cotton ball also in the tin – pouring some of the alcohol on it, and he began rubbing it on Mark’s lips. It was cold. And tickly. Despite his nervousness – or perhaps partly because of it – Mark couldn’t help but giggle. Sure, Dark said not to. Fuck Dark.

The laughter didn’t even come close to spreading to Jack. “Mark, stop. You’re creeping me out.”

“I’m sorry. Nerves, and also, that feels weird.”

“Well, you’re also making this harder for me..” Jack lifted Mark’s lip and swabbed the inside, as well. _Ew._ Bitter. Was that even safe, putting rubbing alcohol inside his mouth?

... “Was that even safe.” He was literally about to be tortured. Lightly tortured, but tortured nonetheless.

But man, it was _really_ hard not to be a giggly bitch with fingers and a cold, wet cotton ball tugging at and tickling his mouth. He just couldn’t stop the giggles from coming. They escaped against his will, vainly trying to lighten the grim situation.

“Goddammit, Mark.”

“I’m sorry! I’m trying not to. I’m really trying not to.” Mark smashed his lips together in an attempt to silence himself; Jack was done swabbing, anyway. _Blech._ The alcohol on the inside of his mouth was disgusting.

“Seven minutes.”

Now came the main event. Jack’s hands shook and glistened with sweat, and it was hard for him to even open the plastic the needle was in. He got it eventually – miraculously without accidentally flinging it halfway across the room – but there was no way he was going to be able to thread it. He tried. He unwound a string, and he poked it at the eye of the needle, over and over and over again, to no avail...

“Lemme help!” Anti jumped in, taking both items from his hands and starting it himself. He unwound a very long string of thread, cutting it with an extended claw and tying a knot into the end. “There you go! Now you can get back to work!”

Jack’s eyes watered.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “This is all my fault.”

“Just shut up so we can get this over with.”

“Six minutes.”

Mark’s heart was about to burst out of his chest. Now the smile was definitely wiped off his face. Reality sank in _fast_ once Jack’s fingers pinched his mouth shut.

He braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut and balling up his hands.

The first poke, and the slow, searing stab of the needle through the corner of his mouth made him wince. The second stab, coming out, was even worse. And it  _burned_. Holy hell, this was gonna be a rough time. The sensation of the needle and thread being pulled through was sickening. Man, what if he puked right then and there? Or what if he had to puke sometime later, without being able to open his mouth? What would he do?

What kind of thread was that, anyway? It didn’t feel normal. He couldn’t describe exactly what it felt like. Not like string, that was for sure. It felt weirdly... fluid? Maybe? He really couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

Stab, and stab again. Needle bursting through, the holes burning, blood trickling into his mouth. Pierce, pierce, burn, bleed. Pierce, pierce, burn, bleed. The pain was rapidly becoming unbearable, and it wasn’t helped by Jack spending as much time trying to keep his hands steady as he was actually putting the needle through. Tears formed in Mark’s eyes. He tapped Jack on the arm, and spun his hand in a circle, motioning for him to speed it up and get it over with.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll go faster.”

“Five minutes.”

It was about a third of the way done, but with Jack picking up the pace, Mark was confident he could do it in the time frame. His mouth was in agony. He never thought about how sensitive lips were before, but holy hell, he was sure thinking about it now. God damn. The feeling of it being pulled tightly shut added a layer of weirdness to the pain. A layer of  _holy shit, this is actually happening to me, I can’t believe this is actually happening to me._

Jack went back and pulled the thread taut. As if he needed rope burn on top of everything. Mark deepened his breathing to control the pain. Halfway there. Jack’s hands were in a solid rhythm now. Maybe he was becoming numb to the ordeal.

“Three minutes.”

 _Pierce, pierce, burn, bleed. Pierce, pierce, burn bleed._  Over and over and over again. His eyes were still slammed shut, his hands balled into fists, his calves tightened and tensed, his teeth gritted. The done part of his mouth was starting to throb. It was probably swelling, too.

“Two minutes.”

“I’m almost done, buddy. Just hang in there.” His voice cracked.

Mark could tell already. He had time. Only a little bit left. He tried to force his mind to think about other things. But all he could think about were the consequences of not being able to open his mouth. How would he be able to eat? That was the main one.

The last  _pierce, pierce, burn, bleed_  on the other corner of his mouth, and Jack pulled the last bit of thread taut to seal the deal. Once again, Anti jumped in to help tie a knot on the other end, and cut the dangling string off.

“With a whole minute to spare, even!” he said. “Wow, you’re better at this whole punishment thing than I thought. Maybe we should challenge you a little more. I was having fun watching and then it was over.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

Jack’s mouth was hanging open, shocked at what he just did. His breathing was short and rapid; his forehead was damp and shiny. He stared down at Mark, crying and shaken.

Mark naturally tried to part his lips in a test of the maybe-supernatural thread’s strength. Pretty strong. His lips were solidly sealed shut. No way he was opening his mouth without it digging into his skin. Oh, God, it hurt so bad. It stung so much, it ached so much, it was pulsing, it was throbbing. The blood trickling inside his mouth wouldn’t stop flowing; he couldn’t stop swallowing it. He wondered how much it would take for him to start vomiting it up.

“That will do.” Dark undid the restraints on Mark’s ankles. Then, his wrists. And finally, his head. Mark didn’t feel that calm fuzziness that he did earlier. None of those gentle touches against his skin. Not that he wanted them or anything. Not from Dark. He would rather be flayed alive.

He immediately sat up as soon as he was able. Jack still sat on the stool, refusing to get up. Probably too shaken to stand at the moment.

“I think I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life now,” Jack said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Just remember, Jack: had Mark not decided to mouth off to us, you wouldn’t have had to endure going through that.”

“That’s right!” Anti added. “But I’m glad he did, though. That was fun to watch!”

“Don’t- Don’t fucking make me turn against him like that.”

_Jack..._

Dark grinned and shook his head. “I think you’ll find that we won’t have to force animosity between you two.”

Mark thought back to when he backtalked Dark and Anti. How mad Jack was at him, how many times he told him to _stop talking_. How he straight up slapped him to try and make him shut the fuck up. Already, what Dark said would happen was starting to happen. The guilt was going to hurt him more than the needle. They were both going to be absolutely destroyed, and he himself would be at least partly at fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only gets worse.


	2. Nothing to Gain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the boys to get ready for their first challenge! Who will win?

The soft washcloth, saturated with warm water, soothed his sore mouth. He could sit here, basking in it for hours, days. Comfort. Relaxation. Peace. Things he had come to think he may never feel again. The little hand mirror showed him his red and swollen lips. Seeing his mouth literally stitched together was bizarre. He kept touching it, running his fingers both along and across the threads. They felt so weird, not like normal string at all. They didn’t have that “stringy” texture, none of the tiny ridges, being perfectly smooth and still feeling sort of fluid-like. There had to be something supernatural about it. Made sense, as that would make it less likely for the stitching to be inadvertently undone.

Mark attempted to part his lips. But the thread seemed to squeeze them shut every time he tried. He swore they were looser than that just a moment ago, and he was sure Jack would have tried to discretely bend the rules by allowing just a little bit of wiggle room to let him get food in there – which he still desperately needed, to the point where he was shaking and sweating. They said they fed Jack. Why not him?

Food. Food. All he could think about was food. He felt like he could eat the entire planet and still have room for dessert. _Please. Someone. Give me something. Anything._

...Huh? What was that smell? Food? Food! Something good! Oh, God. That better be for him. It smelled so warm and comforting. Saliva filled his mouth as he crawled to the door out of the bathroom. How... How was he going to eat it? Fuck it, he’d figure it out later; right now, he just needed to make sure he wasn’t going crazy.

He peered around the corner of the now-open doorway. Jack was sound asleep in his bed, indicated by his snoring, and the setting sun through his window cast its orange glow into the room, and on Dark, who was setting a silver tray onto Mark’s nightstand. Mark couldn’t see what was on the tray from down at this angle. Honestly, they could have cooked up one of the rats from the dungeon and he’d be a happy camper.

Assuming he could find a way to get it into his stomach.

“Ah, Mark.” Dark greeted him with a smile. “You must be _ravenous_. I brought your favorite.” He gestured to the prize tray.

Mark pulled himself up onto his knees to see-

Chicken and dumplings!

... _Fuck me!_ Why did they have to tease him with his favorite food while he was both starving and unable to eat it? They _did_ say they wouldn’t kill, right? There had to be _something_ they’d do... right?

Mark looked up at Dark, pointing to his mouth, to the food, miming his struggle.

“Hmm. That _is_ a problem. One that Anti and I must not have considered.”

_Oh, you are so full of shit._

“I do have an idea, however.” Dark sent a glare towards Jack. Or rather, to a spot under his bed, now that Mark followed Dark’s line of sight. “If that mongrel mutt would wake up and come out.”

 _Huh?_ Was Anti there? The fabric draping down over the gap hid him completely if he was. Mark lifted it up – indeed, he could just make out the faint shape of a human underneath, presumably snoozing.

“Assuming Anti decides to come out at some point,” Dark said with an irritated tone, “will you allow him to modify your body such that you may be able to eat?”

 _Ugh..._ Did Mark really have a choice in the matter? No, of course not. It was fucking Darkiplier. He felt so gross, so dehumanized. But any sort of defiance... Persistent defiance meant that someone else would have to suffer through this instead...

They really knew how to lasso him.

With utmost reluctance, head hanging, Mark nodded yes. He would do anything to eat and save his loved ones.

“I knew you would say that. Now...” Dark knelt down next to him, inspecting underneath Jack’s bed. “Anti. Answer me.”

“Huh?” The shadowy body stirred, stretched, and yawned. A gangly arm emerged from his cave, gripping the carpet and pulling so his head poked out. He crossed his arms and rested his chin atop them, gazing up at them with tired kitten eyes. “Whatcha need?”

“First, I need you to stop sleeping on the job.”

“Says the Prince of Beauty Rest.”

 **“Second...”** Dark gritted his teeth, trying to keep his composure – or not wake Jack up, one of the two - shell cracking and flickering. “I need you to give our friend Mark here a way to eat with a stitched mouth.”

_I’m not your fucking friend._

Anti tilted his head down towards Mark’s face, eyes narrowed, then back up to Dark. “He can’t do it himself? Literally all he has to do is cut a hole in his cheek and stuff his face through there.”

“And who has a knife?” Dark extended his arm towards Mark’s tray, short of any sort of silverware at all, let alone a knife. “Not he.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

**“No one’s.”**

Jack softly whined. But he didn’t wake. It seemed to be the only thing keeping Dark from losing control and yelling at Anti. He sighed, standing and gripping the front of his suit with one hand. “Just, please, Anti. Do as I ask.”

Anti stuck his tongue out at him as he turned his back and left the room. And when the door clicked shut, he whispered, “Prissy little bitch.” Dark definitely wasn’t the type to directly mutilate someone’s skin and shed their blood, to make them scream and howl and squirm in pain and anguish. That was all Anti. Maybe he literally hired him to do just that. What even was their relationship? They didn’t seem to be friends, at least. Mark could tell the difference between banter and genuine arguing. They didn’t banter. Or maybe Anti did, but Dark sure as hell didn’t.

Where did Dark and Anti even go when they left? They sure were in and out of this room a lot.

“Man,” Anti said, pulling himself out fully from under the bed and baby-crawling towards Mark, knife tucked away under his belt at the hip. “I am _so_ sorry you got stuck with that stuck-up prick. He’s literally No Fun incarnate. I don’t know why I bother hanging around him sometimes.” He pulled the knife out and stood up onto his knees once he was in Mark’s personal zone. “You got a right-or-left preference?”

He shook his head. _Let’s just get this over with._

“All right. Left it is, then, since I’m over here.” With absolutely no hesitation or waver in his actions whatsoever, Anti tilted Mark’s head to the side and jammed the knife into his cheek, smacking the tip into his teeth. The surprise made Mark scream. Blood poured into his mouth and down his neck.

“Gah!” Jack cried in response. Anti didn’t let up, still carving and sawing away, tapping the metal on Mark’s teeth as he did so. It made Mark cringe as much as the actual flesh-cutting did. Jack panted heavily, possibly awoken from a nightmare. “Oh my God!” he shouted, hands over his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Giving him an extra food hole,” Anti said as nonchalantly as he cut. Like he was just giving him a shot, was all.

“I mean, okay, I get it, you do what you have to do, but Jesus Christ, I did _not_ want to wake up to that!”

“Can’t always get what we want in life, Jack.”

 _Almost done, almost done..._ Mark’s jaw was clenched as tight as it could be against the pain and the _clang clang clang_ of the metal-on-teeth ringing through his temples. It was the only way he wouldn’t pass out.

“The alternative was cutting directly into his stomach, but then that would defeat the purpose of serving such delicious food to him, wouldn’t it?”

Upon reaching the starting point with only a tiny thread of skin of muscle holding on, Anti ripped it off and made Mark lurch forward a bit. To his shock, Anti then tossed the piece of flesh into the air and snatched it with his teeth. He gave a satisfied hum as he bit it in half and chewed, and flashed Mark a cutesy grin. “ _Mmm..._ You guys should really try it sometime.”

Mark shook his head. _No, thanks._

“Fuck no!”

“Aw, come on, guys. Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it. Now we just need to stop the bleeding.” Anti swallowed what was in his mouth and set down what wasn’t, taking Mark’s face in both of his hands.

And Mark flinched away when he felt his _tongue_ touching the wound.

“Hey, you want it to stop bleeding or not? This’ll make it stop. See?” Using his claw, he cut his own fingertip, and he squeezed it, forcing out a thick trickle. Then he stuck it in his mouth, lightly sucking on it for a second, and showed him the results. He squeezed it again. Nothing. “Poof. Just like that. Magic. Now, you want me to stop the bleeding so you don’t die, or what?”

“Hmm...” _I mean... Yeah, but... All right, whatever, I guess..._ Reluctantly, Mark tilted his head as a go-ahead for him.

“Thanks!”

_Thanks!?_

Anti dove right in, nibbling and licking the wound and God, it felt so fucking weird. It probably looked even weirder. Dare he say it probably looked kinky.

“I’m leaving.” Jack got off the bed and headed for his bathroom. “This is fucking gross.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Jackoff.”

Mark snorted.

Anti fortunately completed the circle around in a timely manner, not lingering around any longer than he absolutely had to. “There we go! Squeaky-clean!”

_Thanks...?_

He withdrew from the wound, facial hair coated in sticky blood. He noticed and rubbed at it, pulling his wet and red hand away and staring at it in disgust. “Ew. I need a bath. You mind if I use yours? Don’t know how long Jack’s gonna be.”

Mark waved him off. _Go ahead. Not like I’m using it._

“Cool. Thanks. Enjoy your dinner!”

Mark sat in dead silence for a moment after Anti ran into the bathroom, letting the events that just transpired sink in. Anti just cut a hole into his cheek, ate it, and then he licked it. What even _was_ he? He touched his new “food hole,” and shuddered. That was weird. That was the weirdest thing, touching his teeth, sticking his tongue out through them and touching that, tapping on the edges of the wound and feeling both smooth and jagged bits of flesh, some tiny pieces jutting out – and all the blood on the surface instantaneously congealed. The only thing stopping him from exploring more was the revelation that he was now coating the hand he was about to eat with in whatever hell germs lived in Anti’s spit. Great. Well, he was going to be shoving food through there, anyway. Some, at least. He’d lost a bit of his appetite somewhere along the way. Just a little bit.

Water started pouring into the bathtub. That sounded nice, a bath. Not even a shower, just sitting and relaxing in a bath of warm water to wash away all the hurt. And the blood trail he still felt dribbling down his neck. Anti never did anything with that.

He sighed, eyeballing his food again. _Well, here goes nothing..._ Mark picked up a dumpling with his bare hand – his bare, hell-spit tainted hand – and separated his jaws as best he could without the thread putting too much pressure on his lips, shoving it through his teeth. _Oh, God. Yes. Heaven does exist._ It tasted _exactly_ like how Mom made it. If only it weren’t tainted by the persistent metallic tang of blood still lingering in the back of his throat despite the wound being sealed. Still... much, _much_ better than eating his own raw flesh, or something else equally – or more – revolting. At least it was something he’d eat in the comfort of his own home.

...He missed home. He missed Amy. He missed Chica. His other friends. His family. His community. His old life. _Everyone._ He may never see them again. And he would never be able to give them a proper last goodbye if that was the case. The lump in his throat made it impossible to swallow. But that meant the taste of home would only linger on his tongue for that much longer.

He supposed he could get Jack to tell them goodbye in his place, but how could he tell him? There didn’t seem to be any sort of writing utensils anywhere. Try and mime it to him?

Speak of the devil. Jack poked his head out, asking, “Is he gone?”

Mark pointed to his bathroom, the sounds of the rushing water still echoing from within.

“Good. Jesus Christ.” Jack flopped onto his bed, clearly shaken and disturbed. “You know, I hope you at least learned your lesson about mouthing off to them.”

Mark nodded, still eating. He turned himself around so Jack wouldn’t have to see the process.

“Why would you do that, Mark? I never once thought you’d be the guy who would really be that genuinely stupid in this dead serious of a situation.”

_I know, Jack. I get it, Jack. You don’t have to rub it in, Jack._

The sound of the water stopped, and then a distinctive _splash!_ rang in its place, followed up by a soft “Ow.” Mark wanted to laugh, but the thread dug into his lips whenever a smile started to crack, stopping any giggles in their tracks. Instead he pointed again and rolled his eyes. _He sure is ridiculous, isn’t he?_

“Yeah, he’s not nearly as funny when he shows up in your fucking nightmares to make you watch someone you love get their organs pulled out one by one.”

_Oh._

Jack’s face and voice suddenly softened in realization. “I... I guess I probably shouldn’t be so hard on you when you can’t even explain yourself properly. And it’s not like you would’ve known what dreams I had.”

He stopped eating to listen.

“You could’ve snapped at them for any number of reasons.” He paused. “You didn’t do that to, like... put more points or whatever in my favor, did you?”

 _Did he?_ Even Mark didn’t really understand why he said what he said, why he became aggressive. He didn’t _think_ it was solely out of any desire to save Jack or anything, although that did play a part in it. Mostly it was just in his nature to be defiant to the end, he supposed. He shrugged and shook his head. _I don’t really know._

“What, you don’t know why you did it?”

_No._

Jack looked like he wanted to chew him out over that, but he held his tongue and kept his cool. “Well, whether you did that one time or not, I’m just gonna say right now: don’t fucking do that in the future. I know that’s the kind of thing you _would_ do, Mark. You like putting other people before yourself. I do, too. Don’t get me wrong. But all I’m saying is that this is not the time or place for that.”

Mark focused his full attention on what Jack was saying. The last thing he wanted was to piss him off again.

“I don’t want to agonize over what’s going to produce what outcome, because, like... It’s going to be shitty no matter what. The last thing I want to happen is one of us accidentally fucking us _both_ over and getting us _both_ killed. And if you just go with it, go with whatever they say, then... then whoever lives won’t have to live with any kind of guilt that may come about as a result of ‘what if I did this, then maybe he wouldn’t have died”... Do you... Do you get what I’m saying?”

He did. He let it settle in. Guilt over choosing who should live and die, huh...? He guessed he never thought about that. He probably should have. This whole situation... Maybe the stress of it all was causing him to not think rationally, but then again, that was surely just an excuse.

“So please stop breaking rules. Don’t be an idiot. What do you think everyone at home would want you to do?”

_They’d want me to come home, but that would mean you’d have to die, and you’ve got people, too._

A soft _click_ interrupted their one-way conversation. Their heads snapped to face Dark addressing them.

“Boys. Come with me. Your first challenge begins soon.” Dark motioned for the two to get up and go; fortunately, enough of the dumplings were in Mark’s belly to quell his hunger.

Jack sent a quick glare to Mark. _Don’t you dare._

_I won’t._

"Anti?” Dark called. “Get out here, you mutt.”

"Coming!” The sound of splashing water rang out of Mark’s bathroom, and Anti slammed the door open, bounding out with his hair plastered to his skull and dripping tiny streams of water, his darkened clothes clinging tightly to his body, and his squishy shoes leaving damp footprints along the carpet. _Seriously? He couldn’t be bothered to take off his clothes before getting in the bath?_

Dark pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Anti, I swear, one of these days...”

“What?” He flicked his forearm at Dark, flinging fat drops onto all three of their faces in a clear – and successful – attempt to piss him off. A toothy grin spread across his face. “Liven up a little, Darkiboo. We’re playing a game, remember?”

_Playing a game?_

“’Sides, I needed a bath. Trust me. And little Chara, too.” He held up the now-shiny knife, stroking his fingertips across the top, thick side of the blade, face gleaming with pride.

_Chara? You named it Chara?_

“Look at her! Fresh and ready to rock and roll!”

“Just dry yourself off and meet us at the starting point.”

As Dark turned and tugged at their arms to get them to follow, Mark heard a rapid _fwapfwapfwap_ , not at all unlike a dog shaking, and felt more water splashing onto the backs of his legs. It drew everyone’s attention back to Anti, who had dropped to all fours and done exactly that.

 **“Goddammit!”** Dark swiped at his calves.

“Chillax. It’s just water. It’ll dry.”

For a brief moment, Mark saw the tiniest of grins crack across Jack’s face. One tried to crack on his own, too, but the thread dug in and stopped it in its tracks. Were it not for that, he and Jack might have caused each other to split their sides laughing.

* * *

 

“Dark, I’m cold.”

“You should’ve thought about that before bathing with your clothes on and having no dry clothes to change into afterwards.”

“Dick.”

Even though he was dry, Mark was pretty chilly, too. Not too bad, but definitely colder than he was used to this time of year. Where was this place, anyway? How hidden was it? Was it in its own dimension, and it just looked like a potential place on Earth? It wasn’t populated, nor was it any place he recognized. Jack didn’t ask them about it, either, though that may have been just his cautious nature acting. The group had passed through a pitch-black tunnel of sorts, which opened out to the challenge area.

Before them, under the pinks and oranges of the dusking sky, stood a great and proud rocky cliff, dotted with small outcroppings that indicated it was meant to be climbed; there was a second segment Mark could see, though it was a little too far up for his to really tell what was on it. Plus, there was a net draped across about twenty feet up, and a line of trees whose uppermost branched reached just up to it. From that point on, they would be safe. Mark and Jack’s heads both scanned the area around them, trying desperately to piece together a possible location. But only more cliffs surrounded them, enclosing and trapping them in a sort of crater.

Was this all the challenge was? Mark had done some climbing in the past, and he certainly felt he had the strength to do this, especially now that he’d been fed. Jack, he wasn’t so sure. How far could that skinny little Irish boy even get?

“Oh, no! Oh, I have such a fucking _horribly_ bad fear of heights!”

Oh, yeah. And there was that bit he forgot about, too.

“We know,” Dark said. “But that is part of the challenge.”

Anti ran and pulled himself up a nearby tree branch. He started scraping and chipping away at a spot on the bark with the knife.

“That’s not fair! Mark’s actually, like, built to do this shit! And _he’s_ not scared!”

 _I’m not_ that _good!_

“You must try your best, at the very least. Do your best and you won’t be punished for it. The same goes for you, Mark.” Dark clasped his hands behind his back, and slowly paced as he delivered the instructions. “Your objective is simply to reach the top. Making it there before your opponent does will have a positive impact on your overall standing at the end.”

“It’s a rock-climbing wall with extra danger!”

“They can see that, Anti. Now, here are the rules. First and foremost, any rules that you must follow while in your room are applicable here as well.”

“No getting’ away with nuthin’.” Anti pointed the knife at them as he spoke.

“Anti. Hush.” Dark was getting impatient with him. “You can reverse your opponent’s progress. Intentionally doing so will relieve you of at least some of the punishments you accrue.”

“You’re gonna bleed either way-”

 **“Anti.”** At this rate, it was going to be tomorrow before they even started. “I do not need your ‘echo’ commentary. If you don’t have anything to add, don’t add anything.”

While his back was turned, Dark was given a prolonged one-finger salute, and he might have remained oblivious to it had Mark not started snorting and quivering. The thread stopped the accompanying smile, but Dark saw the repressed laughter clear as day.

“What?” Dark asked flatly.

Mark merely pointed.

And instead of trying to hide the fact that he was doing anything goofy, Anti held up _both_ fingers once Dark looked to see what was going on.

Dark dismissed it entirely. “Be warned that most routes are not as easy to navigate as they may appear.” He paused, expecting Anti to give his two redundant cents again. No such remarks, Anti instead pulling an imaginary zipper across his lips.

In a suddenly booming voice: “Are you two ready?”

_Not really._

“I guess we don’t have a fucking choice,” Jack muttered.

“That’s the spirit.” Dark backed away, off to the side. “Anti, get out of the way.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He crouched and sprang off the branch, sticking the landing with a sharp _crack_ in his ankles. “I’m okay,” he assured with a thumbs-up and a bright smile. Somehow his ankles were okay enough to carry him in a jog towards Dark.

“All right, boys. Go.”

_Huh?_

“Wha-”

**“Go.”**

“Oh!” Jack took off first, Mark following a split second behind. Both made a beeline for the same tree, with Mark changing his mind, not wanting for them to get in each other’s way. The bark scraped his knees and elbows as he made his way to the net. Some of the higher branches were starting to give under his weight.

_Come on. Don’t do this to me already._

The net was within reach soon enough, and Mark hooked his fingers around the edge of it before the branch cracked under his feet, grabbing and advancing farther and farther inward until he could crawl to safety.

Now he didn’t have to worry about falling and dying. Just about what was directly above him. Mark calculated his moves, knowing to avoid the super easy-looking path towards his left, with huge holds that were likely to be booby-trapped or similar. Over to his right, the holds were tiny and sparsely-populated - probably too much trouble to be worth it. And who knows, maybe they predicted he’d go for the hard side and trap those to hell and back. Up the middle, that was what his gut told him, and that was what he went with. The holds even had dents in them for easy gripping. Combined with Jack’s crippling fear of heights and climbing, he’d easily get a good le-

_Gasp!_

_Oh God oh God oh God...!_

His fingers. His fingers were getting sliced. Razor blades. Slicing and searing into him. His fingers were going to come off. He just knew it.

Then, the razors retracted as quick as they came.

Mark pushed himself up with his other hand, peering over the edge of the finger-death rock, now soaked red. No fingers actually lost. Yet.

“Get your ass moving!” Anti barked.

“I can’t!”

This was what the whole challenge was going to be, huh? Just Jack frozen in place for as long as humanly possible while Mark carried on upward, assuming he didn’t exhaust himself.

“All right, you asked for it!”

Mark glanced down to where Jack was – mistake number one. Holy shit, the vertigo slammed him, he was so high up already, and there was a whole ‘nother section to go yet still. But there was the net. There was always the net to catch him. _Breathe._

Then he saw Anti – mistake number two. Anti charged up the wall towards a screaming and panicking Jack, who’d had his whole body pressed flat against the wall. Even not being in Anti’s path himself, God damn, that was terrifying. Seeing a not-completely-human creature speedrunning up a cliff face... Jesus. It did spur Jack into climbing, though. So Mark needed to get a move on. There wasn’t much left to go on this first wall.

He was so cautious about what he was grabbing now, gingerly tapping any holds before grabbing them for real. He saved himself from more razors that way.

Suddenly, a hold gave out from under his foot. In panic, his hands made an iron grip where they were.

Jack screamed.

“Fucker!” Anti growled. “Why’d you let go, Jack? Get back up there!”

“I’m going! I’m going!

Not wanting to look down again, Mark paid them no heed. The top was right there. He just had to keep reaching. He didn’t want to risk losing his grip again, or his fingers.

There was one last hold between himself and the top. He could either grab it and risk a trap, or he could try to jump.

_You know what?_

_Let’s go for it._

The holds beneath his feet remained steady even as he test-pushed his weight down on them. He could definitely do this.

_Three, two, one, go!_

His hands successfully gripped the edge, and he heaved himself up, muscles rippling underneath his skin. He crawled a few steps and took a much-needed breather. Sweat drops collected on his forehead.

His hand was throbbing.

Instead of holds, the next wall started with platforms jutting out, followed by a ladder up past the net, and metal bars dotting the way to the top, while forming multiple branches and pathways that split and merged together. More decisions he’d regret, probably. As for the platforms, there was only the singular line of them up to the net. Hopefully no traps on those. That’d be a dick move.

Not that it would’ve been beyond Dark and Anti.

Mark forced himself to get up and go. He stepped on the first platform. Okay. Easy enough. The next one was also easy. And the next. He didn’t even really have to jump that much from one to the next.

Though, even only three platforms up, he could already feeling the riling anxiety of having the ground constantly in his field of vision as he slowly ascended farther away from it. He saw nothing from this vantage point that he didn’t already know was there. Maybe once he got to the top, he’d be able to see the tops of the cliffs, perhaps even wherever the hotel room was.

He saw Jack crawl up to the new area as soon as he reached the ladder. Even from up here, he could see the little blood smudges from Jack’s hands on the ground, and the terror on his face when he saw what was next.

“Oh, fuck! No. No, I can’t!” Jack bent his knees up and buried his face in them. His yelling was unintelligible, but it wasn’t like Mark couldn’t guess what it was all about.

He himself had stalled as well, distracted from watching him sob. What was Jack going to do? Was he just doomed to lose? But then again, Mark started the challenge with a lower score, or however they were keeping track. Perhaps they intentionally chose something that would be harder for Jack to even the playing field. Maybe the next one would be in the ocean. It would only be fair.

“Oh, but I have to...” Jack wiped his eyes and pushed himself to a shaky stand. “I have to do it, or they’ll punish me.”

Mark’s hand drifted towards the ladder, but he continued to watch Jack from there. He could practically see the trembling in Jack’s legs, inching timid baby steps forward. Upon reaching the second platform, he leaned into it, reaching out to it, testing to see if crawling would suffice. There was no way in hell it would. And Jack soon realized that, too, as he sat back down and started quaking again.

Nothing Mark could or should do. He climbed the ladder up to surpass the net. Now he had safety.

Provided he didn’t clonk his head on any of the bars if he fell. Shit. That was a possibility.

"Get going!”

There was Anti again. Better start grabbing bars before he noticed.

“I fucking can’t!”

**"Jack.”**

And Dark. Oh, boy. Mark tried not to pay any attention to them, but the undiluted rage being tossed around beneath him made him want to look down again and again.

The distraction was slowing him down and only making his fingers threaten ever more to detach themselves at the base.

Mark could just make out Dark growling to Jack, “You don’t know what we’re holding back from you.” After that, Dark’s voice shifted to a deeper rumble too low to distinguish any more words from this distance. _Gotta keep going, gotta keep going._ Two equidistant bars on either side of him offered him a choice. They both _looked_ the same... But chances were, one was a trap.

Mark tested the one on the left, swiping the tip of his index finger across it, coating it in a clear, slick oil he couldn’t see before. He wiped the oil off on his pants. That bar was a no.

Just in case, he did the same test on the other bar.

_Aaahhh!_

He was scalded.

This was bad. Neither of these was a good option. Maybe he could wipe the oil off the left bar with his sleeve? That seemed like the best way to go. No way was he going to char his hands for the sake of getting to the top first. Now how was he going to do this? His right hand was hurting more, and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold his own weight with it. But his left arm was closer. He could always switch.

He reached with his left, beginning to wipe the oil away.

“All right, okay!” he heard Jack yelling. He automatically looked down. Bad reflex. Dizziness washed over him. He lost his grip.

It took only two seconds to hit the springy net. But it was the scariest two seconds thus far, shocks of fright roaring through his chest. He lay on his back and collected himself. _Okay. That wasn’t so bad._ In a more controlled environment, that might have actually been fun. Yeah. Grab every last little scrap of enjoyment while he could. It would be the only way he could maintain any sort of willpower or sanity here.

The sounds of heavy, thumping footsteps rang from below. Jack’s tune changed drastically; whatever threats Dark and Anti made against him were working. Mark couldn’t even begin to imagine what kinds of threats those might have been.

“Mark!” Dark bellowed. “You too!”

“Don’t make me come up there!” Anti followed.

Whatever it was, Mark didn’t want to find out firsthand. He sat back up and clumsily crawled across the bouncing net. Jack was almost up to this point, already making it to the ladder.

The first string of bars wasn’t too bad in and of itself. But it was the fact that he had to start over again in even more excruciating pain and ache as the previous try, and that it would only pile up with each successive fall, of which he was sure to have several. The only consolation was that Jack was also going to fall many, many times, especially if he was as shaky as he was down below.

It would only ever get worse.

By the time Mark made it to the first bar, Jack was right on him. He _could_ let Jack take the lead and face the oil-versus-fire dilemma above.

“What?” Jack asked as they were face-to-face under the bar. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?”

But that was making Jack suspicious. So Mark shook his head and made the first grab for the bar.

“I mean, I guess one of us has to go first.” Jack allowed him, though he made sure to trail inches behind to appease the judges.

Six bars, Mark counted, before the branch, before the choice. This time, his flipped himself backwards and used the other arm to wipe off what oil was left.

“The hell are you doing?”

He grabbed the bar. Still sort of slick. _Don’t tell me the burning one is the only way forward._

“Is there, like, oil on that bar?”

And as soon as Mark let go of the stable bar-

Slip.

Heart racing.

 _Boing!_ Landed in the net again. Not as bad. He knew what to expect. But now Jack was ahead.

Not for long, if the shriek was anything to go by.

He grabbed the burning bar. Didn’t even test it. But somehow... Somehow, Jack managed to not fall. Somehow, he managed to grab the next bar, which must have been normal, if he was resting on it for so long.

“Oh, God...” His head was thrown back. That had to have been the _worst._ Trying to imagine the burn covering his whole hands and then having to keep holding up his entire body with those hands... The fact that Jack was still holding on deserved applause.

Round three. It was time to try, try again. Mark thoroughly wiped all the oil off onto his pants again. Maybe he _would_ have to grab the burning bar. He wasn’t getting anywhere. His arm muscles were going to rip themselves apart before long at this rate.

Mark focused on nothing but the next bar. No time to dwell on how much every bone in his body wanted to crack under the pressure, no time to think about how irreparably marred his skin was, he had to keep going.

Jack screamed again. His body tensed up for a few seconds before relaxing again, though he was left hyperventilating. Shock, maybe? Wouldn’t surprise him.

It was unsettling him that he couldn’t tell which bars were safe until it was too late.

Here was the dilemma again. There was simply no way Mark would be able to safely hang from the oily bar. He had to go burning. It was the only way, as far as he could tell. The next one was normal. He could make it quick.

_Brace yourself._

_...Go._

Hop, skip, _burn burn burn holy shit_ , next bar, _oh God oh God oh God_ , that was the worst idea, that was the stupidest thing he could’ve done! This hurt so much worse than getting his mouth sewn shut. _End me, end me!_

Jack made it up a couple more bars – very nearly to the top now – before suddenly struggling and squirming. “Ah- What the fuck?”

Mark went up a separate, adjacent path of bars – all normal, thank God – as he made it up to Jack’s level to see what was going on. Jack’s hands appeared glued down, unable to be torn from their spot.

This was Mark’s chance to get ahead, _and_ he could be as cautious as he wanted without falling behind again. Good idea, too; the next bar he grabbed flimsily bent and threatened to snap had he been more reckless.

Movement out of the corner of his eye jolted him.

_Jack!?_

Jack’s foot smashed into a tender spot above his hip bone, and a second kick shoved Mark into the bar-filled abyss.

_Crack!_

_Bang!_

_Thud!_

_Flop._

 

* * *

 

Mark woke up sitting upright. He was oddly comfortable, despite the hardness of the chair he was in. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.

Back... Back in the clinic? Dark was the only other one there, wrapping up his left arm in a pure white bandage. He felt absolutely nothing underneath it; probably a good thing. Nor the rest of his upper body, which he discovered was likewise wrapped up, the bandage creating a bulge underneath his shirt and lightly squeezing him. There was a lack of similar bandages on his right hand, the one that hurt the most. Dark probably just hadn’t gotten to it yet.

No sign of Jack or Anti anywhere. They were probably waiting back up in the room. Mark couldn’t wait to just curl up in his bed and die. Not without killing Jack first. _Motherfucker!_ Should’ve known the guy who got pissed at him for mouthing off would be the guy to obey when told to shove his opponent off a cliff face.

“I will take care of your other hand shortly. Don’t you worry, Mark.”

 _Don’t you worry.’_ Man, Dark was an ass.

“This bandage will help everything wrapped within heal very quickly. You should be good to go by the second challenge. It is waterproof, as well.”

 _I don’t have to change it? I can just take a bath with it on?_ He still wanted that. He felt disgusting.

“Now, about your other hand...” Dark gingerly took Mark’s hand in both of his own, uncurling his fingers. Slices, cracks, blisters, redness, everything split open and stung like an absolute bitch, caked with congealed blood and oozing viscous fluid. Dark grabbed a nearby washcloth, dampening it with spritzes of distilled water, and wiped it away, sending bolts of agony up Mark’s arm.

And then, after setting the washcloth down, he pressed the wounds to his lips.

 _What are you doing!?_ Mark tried to yank his hand back, but Dark kept a firm grip on him. The spot he kissed rapidly turned numb. No feeling whatsoever, no pain, not touch, not pins and needles. Just nothing. And it lingered that way even after Dark withdrew. Mark poked at it with his thumb, and yelled as best he could with sealed lips. _What the fuck was that for?_

Slyly grinning, Dark said, “You will thank me later.” He pushed himself up to a stand, knees popping as he did so. Mark’s head tilted back in awe over how much Dark towered over him.

“Shall we go?” He walked behind the wheelchair, touching Mark’s shoulder as he passed by. “Jack and Anti are back upstairs already.”

 

* * *

 

He put Mark on a lift of some kind to get him back up the stairs. The twists and turns taken in the total blackness were making Mark queasy.

Dark took hold of his shoulder, kneading his palm and fingers into the deep knots, and bringing with it an intense euphoria, a feeling of never wanting to leave this place, a desire to fall asleep and never again regain consciousness. Mark’s stomach settled back to a comfortable emptiness, as did his mind and nerves. Almost his very soul, in fact. He didn’t even question why he felt this way. His eyes drifted shut, and his body leaned ever so slightly into Dark – a gesture that drew a rumbling chuckle out of him.

No one and nothing else existed.

 

* * *

 

Dark flinched back, scrunching his nose at whatever was in the drawer. “Jack, it appears that your punishment for repeatedly refusing to cooperate during the challenge will come in the form of your next meal.”

“What is it?”

Dark shoved the drawer shut. “You will get it when you get it. Anti will give it to you.”

“You too pussy for it?” Anti asked.

“You enjoy these sorts of things more than I do.”

Anti pulled the drawer out an inch, peeked inside, and promptly declared, “Yeah, no. You’re too pussy for it.”

Considering the visceral acts Anti had so far done with a smile on his face, Mark didn’t want to imagine what Jack would have to eat later.

“Mark, you took small breaks here and there during your run. Ultimately, it cost you the win.” Dark went to the other drawer, the one in front of Mark’s bed, and opened it up.

“Who’s winning so far? Er...” Jack caught himself, eyes worriedly shifting to Mark for a split second. “Uh, never mind. I actually don’t want to know.”

Dark pulled out an object that he kept close to his body and out of Mark’s sight. “That information is not yours to know, anyway.”

“How come?”

“Dude,” Anti butted in, “stop asking questions. For someone who was so mad at Mark for getting mad at us, you sure like to be a dumbass yourself.”

“ _I’m_ just being curious. _He_ was-”

Mark’s head snapped. _You shut the fuck up right now._

Jack caught sight of Mark’s bitterness, slinking back and letting the rest of whatever he was going to say trail off, pointing his gaze downward.

“Mark. Sit on the floor.” Dark pointed to a spot without even turning his head, nor revealing the object. “Knees up.”

He did as he was told. _God, Jack, just fuck you, seriously._

Dark turned his head to look at Mark, analyzing him, still not revealing whatever was in his hand. He nodded once to himself. The anticipation was making Mark’s nerves quiver.

Then Dark spun around, revealing a handgun, and fired into Mark’s knee.

Time froze.

No one moved an inch, besides Dark dropping the gun back down to his side. Nothing made a sound, save for the ringing in Mark’s damaged ears.

“I feel like now is a good time to put you two to bed,” Dark said, placing the gun back in the drawer. “There is sleepwear in the bathroom closets on the shelves above the towels, as well as any personal hygiene items you may want to use. Do whatever you typically do before bed. Lights go out in one hour. You will have nightlights in your bathrooms for your convenience. Now, Anti...” Dark motioned for him with a curled finger. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I need to speak with you in private.” He pushed the door open.

"Why?”

Dark stopped, irritation growing on his face as he turned his head, eyes narrowed. “Don’t start with me.”

“Why?”

Growling and gritting his teeth, Dark lunged for Anti, grabbing and yanking him by the arm out the door, Anti cackling all the while.

Mark wouldn’t have laughed even without the thread stopping him, still too wide-eyed and frozen stiff to think about anything.

 

* * *

 

_"Dude, why are you so obsessed with winning?”_

_"Is that not the purpose of competition? Do you not find the satisfaction of victory worth any amount of effort?”_

_"Look, man, I’m just doing this to see a bloodbath. That’s where my satisfaction comes from.”_

_"Is that your method of coping with inevitable failure? I don’t remember you having this attitude before we started this game, which I also recall was **your** idea, and yours alone.”_

_"Call it whatever you want, Dickiplier. I’m still happier than you either way, and that’s a win in my book.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sad thing about going back and rewriting literally EVERYTHING a dozen times over is scrapping fun things Anti said in previous versions. Here's a deleted scene full of such delicious commentary.
> 
> http://verobrunhi.tumblr.com/post/170296668337/the-gauntlet-deleted-scene


	3. Nothing to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we see Mark and Jack wallowing in misery in their little room for the day, then they jump into the second challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW LOOK WHAT FINALLY UPDATED YAAAAAAYYYYYYY I’M SO HAPPY THIS IS FINALLY DONE OMGGGGG
> 
> I RAN INTO SOME OBSTACLES OKAY
> 
> Some things to take note:
> 
> 1\. There are a LOT of body fluids other than blood in this chapter. (No, jizz is not one of them. Get your ass out of the gutter and wash yourself off. We take our purity very seriously ‘round these parts.)  
> 2\. If I fucked up any basic workings of a submarine (WHICH I FOUND OUT I DID PLEASE IGNORE IT I'LL CHANGE IT), it’s because at some point you just have to say “fuck it” and get words on paper, as my mom always said.  
> 3\. I don’t know how to make room-to-room transitions not boring or rushed.  
> 4\. This is the point where the “creepy sexual undertones” tag really starts to come into play.  
> 5\. No, really.
> 
> **[February 4, 2019 Update: This chapter will be under construction soon. After I get some sleep.]**

Jack crawled under the covers, burying himself head and all, forgoing any nighttime routines. Faint, breathy sobs could be heard through the thick blankets.

Standing up was impossible. Mark’s knee refused to cooperate. Trying to straighten it sent ripples of pain up and down his leg. And honestly, he didn’t care enough to get up at the moment; instead, he lay flat on his back, arms spread out, staring at the blank ceiling and listening to Jack cry once again. Normally, the sound of someone crying would prompt Mark to console them. This wasn’t a normal time. This time, Mark was _infuriated_. Were it not for his freshly-blasted knee, he’d definitely up and throttle the guy. _“_ I’m _just being_ curious _, unlike_ him _.” Shut up, fuck case._

God damn, his knee did _not_ want him to go to bed. The amount of awkward flopping he had to do and the little energy he had to do it made him cease considering a bath for the time being. Right now, he was crashing and needed sleep.

Jack poked his head out from under the covers, apparently curious about the frustrated sounds Mark was making. “You need help?”

 _Not from you._ He was getting there, slowly but surely heaving his way up the side of his bed. Even if he did pull the blankets halfway off in the process.

“I can help you if you want.”

 _Don’t touch me._ Mark didn’t care if he’d have to crab-walk his way everywhere, he was _not_ in the mood to let Jack help him at all, especially if he had to grab him.

“...Okay.” Catching onto Mark’s mood, Jack retreated back under his own covers without another word.

 _Thank you for leaving me alone._ There. Now he was here. Didn’t need Jack. Wouldn’t ever need Jack again.

 

* * *

 

The lights went out by themselves, and the ensuing darkness emphasized the existence of the stars twinkling outside the window. Stars that made Mark more nostalgic for a normal, happy life. Night drives with Amy and Chica to Cracker Barrel. Eating glue on camera. Playing FNAF with his mom. Tour bus shenanigans. Thousands of pieces of fanart and edits and games the community made for him out of thanks for him just existing. Every recent memory replayed in his mind all at once.

He couldn’t sleep.

The fatigue from the day’s trials did nothing to slow his racing thoughts, the whys, the hows, the what ifs. _Why is this happening? How will it end? What if I never come home?_

He kept looking over to his nightstand, repeatedly expecting to see an alarm clock that would give him just that tiny piece of information that would stop him from going even more nuts.

Jack moaned and fidgeted in his sleep. “Nn... No.”

Probably a nightmare. Wouldn’t surprise him.

“Nnh... _Stop!_ ”

The sudden outburst made Mark jump. It was too dark to properly see what was going on, but he heard Jack thrashing and kicking.

“Leave them alone!”

He _could_ kind of see Jack’s shadowy figure bolting upright, lunging forward, and smashing his fists down in front of him. Mark himself sat up as well, ready to knock some sense into him, to wake him up.

Jack seemed to be able to see him moving. He stumbled and fell to the floor, tangled up in the blankets, but he didn’t let it slow him down as he got back up onto his feet, screaming and sprinting for him, arms outstretched, on the attack. “Get off them!”

Mark yelled, trying to get him back into reality. _Jack, wake up! It’s not real!_

He got a solid bash to the nose for it.

He didn’t want to fight back, just in case he made it worse. Instead, he buried his face in his arms to protect it from further damage as Jack continued to whale on him with stinging slaps. The bandages softened the blows somewhat.

“I’ll kill you!”

 _Not like that, you won’t._  Honestly, it felt kind of good, occasional slap to the back of the head notwithstanding.

The smacking slowed down and stopped as fast as it started. Jack placed his hands on the bed, leaning down into it. “What...?” Finally, he seemed to realize. “What- Oh... Oh, okay. Where- I’m here. That wasn’t- That was just a dream. Just a dream, right? ‘Cause...” He scanned the room, talking himself through the situation. “Because this isn’t home. This is that room. They’re not here. They’re fine.”

_Hopefully._

“I’m so sorry... I was kind of awake during all that, but, like, the dream was the thing I remembered... You were cutting people’s fingers off. And I...” He choked up. “That’s what I remembered; I guess I thought it was real, and it just took me a while to realize where I was and that I was beating you up for no reason-”

 _Jack, just shut up._ Mark put a finger up to his mouth to silence him, and lay back down. Jack stood still, probably unsure what to think of all that. But he did go back to his own bed, picking up the blankets he’d kicked off, throwing them open, and burrowing back underneath them.

Something poked out from under Jack’s bed – a hand, Anti’s hand, wiggling its fingers and waving goodbye before slinking back into the unknown.

 

* * *

 

The light of a thousand suns burned his eyelids and prompted him to pull the comforter over his head, leaving only a small opening for the light to seep inside and help his eyes adjust.

“Rise and shine, boys,” Dark sang. “It’s time to eat.”

“Yeah!” Anti cheered. “Breakfast time! Breakfast time! I got your breakfast ready, Jack!” He punctuated his words with the pounding of his knife or hand against the floor, and Mark’s temples throbbed with every hit and syllable. _Please, just shut up. Five more minutes. That’s all I ask._ But God Almighty, he wanted to eat so bad. His stomach was so, so hollow. A disconcerting blend of smells reached his nose. On one layer was something exquisitely sweet and comforting. Underneath that was the putrid odor of death and decay.

_Oh, boy._

Having mostly adjusted to the daylight, Mark uncovered himself, rubbing his eyes and sitting upright. The sweet smell came from the tray in Dark’s hands – fluffy, golden-brown waffles drizzled in maple syrup, dusted with powdered sugar, and topped with strawberries, blueberries, banana slices, and a dollop of thick cream. To the side were a few slices of crispy bacon, and for a drink he had a tall glass of a pinkish-purple smoothie. Could he get a funnel or something to help pour the smoothie into his mouth without dumping it all over his face?

...No, of course not. Why would they help him?

Then there was the rot smell. Over on the other side of the room, Anti was playing around in a pile of shredded...

_Oh, God..._

Judging by the mound of gray and black fur and bones tossed to the side, it wasn’t hard to figure out what Jack’s punishment breakfast was. Were there _organs_ in the meat pile, too? There weren’t any in the scrap.

“That is Jack’s,” Dark said, bringing his attention back to the real food. “Don’t worry about it. This is yours. What Anti has is of no concern to you.” He set the tray down onto Mark’s lap. “I’m not setting it on the floor this time around because I doubt you can move your leg.”

 _Yeah, thanks, dickweed._ Mark covered up his anger by tearing off pieces of waffle and shoving them into his drooling face.

Dark laughed a little. “Eager, I see.”

Mark tried not to look at Anti grabbing Jack by the nape and dragging him to the rat pile, pushing him down on his hands and knees. He picked up a glob of meat and intestines, holding it under Jack’s nose. “Eat it.”

Jack hesitated. His chest heaved irregularly. He swallowed. Mark started noticing how quickly Jack was blinking.

Anti shoved his other hand into Jack’s mouth, forcing it open. “Eat it!”

Jack let the slop get pushed into his mouth, but then refused to chew, eyes pleading with Anti to just let him go hungry, abdomen clenching and hiccupping. This was incredibly sickening, so much so that Mark himself had to stop eating.

Eventually, Jack couldn’t take it anymore, and the next thing they knew, he’d coated Anti’s front in a soup of rat flesh and stomach acid.

“Really now? Come on.” Unfazed, Anti picked the rat bits off himself and the floor, and immediately shoved them back into a yelping Jack’s mouth.

Now it was Mark’s turn.

The acid seared the exposed muscle around the cheek wound; it felt as though it was eating through what healthy flesh reamined. The ensuing wincing and squinting pushed tears out of his eyes. Small streams of liquid escaped through his lips and nose, with chunks of waffle remaining stuck inside. He tilted his head sideways, to try and let at least some of it drain out. The sour, rancid stench was overwhelming, leading him to puke a second time. Jack did, too, this time aiming towards a random spot on the floor rather than Anti.

Dark darted out of the room without a word.

“Dark? Come back, please.” Anti stuck out his bottom lip. “I need an adult.”

He called from the other side of the door: “Just let them deal with it themselves. I’m not cleaning them up, and you don’t have to, either.”

After a pause and a shrug, Anti pulled his wet shirt and pants off, taking care not to get any vomit on his face, and threw them on the floor. Holy shit, Anti was skinny. Like counting-all-the-bones skinny. Now, he wasn’t exactly an expert on the topic, but Mark was pretty sure Jack’s body didn’t look like that, assuming Anti was modeled after him like he figured. “All right, I guess you guys are both just gonna starve. I’m gonna get some different clothes. Have fun.”

Was that normal for him? Mark could count his vertebrae, too.

“Kinda looked like _he_ was starving,” Jack whispered.

So it wasn’t normal, or at least not expected.

Jack sighed, pushing himself onto his feet, unstable and shaking, wiping off what remained on his lips with his sleeve. He scooped up Anti’s clothes, folding the soiled parts to the inside. His stomach visibly lurched.

Trying to get up to help only sent shots of nigh-unbearable pain spiking up Mark’s leg. He fought through it, needing to get off his bed so he could pull the blanket off, and ended up collapsing, as well as knocking what was left of his food onto the floor thanks to his feet getting tangled. So, so hard he tried not to cry.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Jack took the blanket from him and wrapped it up in a ball around Anti’s clothes. “No sense trying when you can’t even stand up properly.”

Still lying on the floor, alone, Mark turned over the tray, picking out pieces of food, brushing off any hair or carpet fuzz clinging to them. He had to nab every scrap he could.

 

* * *

 

Dirty pus.

That was the best description of the color the bath water took on after Mark scrubbed the filth of the challenge and punishments off his skin. Disgusting. Going to have to drain and refill.

He sat mesmerized by the little whirlpool forming above the drain, poking his finger in the top and feeling the water brush across what little skin was still unbandaged. Some vague sense of comfort for once - he’d snag every last drop of it. Mark used the opportunity of having a source of running water to rinse out the acid still lingering in his mouth, sticking his head underneath the tap and letting a light drizzle of water inside. A gaping hole in the cheek made it less than easy to swish it around in all the cracks and crevices, so what he was unable to successfully spit out, he had no choice but to swallow.

 _Sigh..._ Refilling the tub and sinking his whole body lip-deep into the warm water, he felt he could sleep in here. For a moment, he didn’t ever want to leave, temporarily forgetting where he was.

He pinched the wound on his knee, feeling multiple pieces of the bullet inside. Man, that hurt like a son of a bitch. Was it safe for anyone to have a bullet stuck inside them? If only he could look it up. Honestly, if his knee was permanently fucked, he’d rather just have his whole leg cut off. Save him from having to try and navigate two more challenges with a useless leg that only got in his way. But then again, he’d have to withstand the “surgery” fully awake and feeling. Was he willing to go through with it? Maybe. If that was his only other viable option.

As much as he tried not to, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was ruining his peace. His only little oasis in this hell, and even it was tainted with reality. There was no point in staying here any longer.

He drained the water one final time, clambering out with a backwards flop onto the floor and booming echoes of an accidental kick to the side of the tub. He reached for the towel he’d laid on the floor for himself, attempting to dry himself off as best as he could. Some spots he missed, but it would have to do.

All the while, his knee futilely begged for him to just _stop fucking moving._

 

* * *

 

“Listen, don’t tell Dark I told you this, but he totally almost ralphed.” Anti snickered to himself. “It’d ruin his ‘image’ to have people know that he’s got bodily functions like the rest of us plebs.”

 _His image deserves to be ruined._ Anti, on the other hand... Anti had no “image.” Or, well, he had _quite_ the image – one that was impossible to ruin due to sheer shamelessness. Currently, he was proudly donning a set of boyish pajamas: light and summery, baby blue, covered in chibi dinosaurs, and the shirt not quite long enough to cover the last inch of his torso. With no belt to sheathe his knife into, Anti kept it in his hands, mindlessly playing with it and waving it around like a sort of prop while speaking.

“Dude can’t take a joke. One of these days, I’ll make him laugh.” Anti gazed off into space and smiled as he said that. “You’ll see. Or not.” He shrugged. “Depends on if you live long enough.”

“Thanks for reminding us of that,” Jack said.

“You’re welcome.”

 _Seems a little too hopeful about that._ Dark didn’t strike Mark as being capable of humor. Or... any sort of positive emotion. Sure, he smiled and chuckled to himself whenever he was being a prick, but that didn’t really count. That was just Basic Villaining. If Anti wanted to be friends with him, Mark couldn’t fathom why. Maybe there was some other appeal that only creatures like them could comprehend.

“But I thought we were under auditory monitoring?” Jack pointed to the rules list on the wall.

“Oh, that’s me. That’s my job. Dark doesn’t know anything I don’t tell him.”

_Wonder if we can use that piece of info to our advantage?_

Anti side-eyed Mark. “I tell him everything, though. Don’t think that you can trick me into siding with you or anything. Actually, I think that’s a rule. You’ve read those again today, haven’t you? That’s a rule, too. ‘Cause they might change.”

Jack flicked his bemused eyes between them, perhaps wondering about Anti’s body language towards Mark – something Mark himself guessed could be a clue that Anti could read his mind. But, Jack didn’t ask anything of the sort, instead asking about the rules, “ _Did_ something change?”

“Don’t know, probably, but better safe than sorry for you guys, right?”

_Wouldn’t you know if they did?_

Anti yawned and stretched, showing off his belly button and a bit of hip bone. “Well, it was nice talking to ya. But I gotta go take a nap. If Dark comes to find me, tell him I caught him sleeping sitting up in his chair so he can’t call me out.”

“We’re not allowed to say things not related to questions about the rules,” Jack pointed out.

“Good for you, remembering!” Anti gave him a hearty thumbs-up. Then, childishly clapping: “My boy’s learning! He might actually win this!”

Jack said nothing. He sure looked like he wanted to say something. Probably something along the lines of “I’m not your boy.” Though, the words sounded significantly less disturbing coming out of Anti’s mouth than Dark’s. Mark couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at Jack’s luck being stuck with the less creepy of the two, even if he was the more outwardly violent one.

“But I really, really gotta hit the sack right now. I stayed up all last night playing games. Heh... Relatable, right?”

_Sure._

Anti slid himself feet first under Jack’s bed. Just before disappearing completely, he lashed out the knife and growled, _“You better not wake me!”_

“We won’t!”

“Good.”

...Mark was _maybe_ starting to understand why Jack never laughed at Anti.

 

* * *

 

Apparently, Jack wasn’t going to get another meal until he finished the rat. Whether he puked it all up again right away didn’t matter; he just had to get it down first. And it was only growing more and more fetid as time went on. Jack’s plan was just to get it over with, taking it into his bathroom to finish it in there. He’d be both next to a readily-available toilet and out of Mark’s sight and smell that way. Win-win. Kind of. As much of a win as anyone could get.

Meanwhile, Mark had little else to do than go over the rules again and again. Literally nothing changed, that he could recall. But that was good for him; all he had to worry about was reviewing and remembering.  _Don’t try to usurp Dark and Anti. Do what they say without hesitation. Don’t question them. No loopholes. Jack’s not your friend here._ As long as they didn’t change too much overnight, Mark felt somewhat more confident that he could navigate the rest of this bullshit without forgetting anything that was going to get himself tortured again.

He could faintly hear the delightful sound of gagging in Jack’s bathroom. Wonder if he’d even successfully keep it down? If he didn’t puke, there was always the very real possibility of-

Never mind. That rat wasn’t going anywhere after all.

 

* * *

 

Who would have thought he’d be _glad_ for the challenge to finally come around? He was starting to go stir-crazy. Rule-reading only took up so much time in the day.

Dark had brought him back down to the clinic to take the bandages off. Mark had to remove his clothes so Dark could access the bandages, and while he did keep his underwear on, this was still _extremely_ uncomfortable. This was a barrier between them taken down, leaving him feeling vulnerable and open to attack. And _of fucking course_ Dark was taking his sweet fucking time, gingerly peeling off the bandage like he wanted to save it for later. He probably did. Sicko.

“All better,” he said, stroking Mark’s indeed-healed left leg.

_Please stop. Just stop. Stop touching me._

Dark’s thumb traveled to a spot just below the bullet hole in his right knee, pushing on it and making Mark wince. “You haven’t been able to walk properly since you got shot, have you?”

_Yeah, thanks for that, dickweed._

“Quite the useless leg now, isn’t it?”

Mark glanced down to the old bandages on the floor, pointing to them.

“What? Oh, no, we’re not going to bandage it. Those are for wounds acquired during the challenges. This here...” He circled his thumb around the area, _fucking stop_. “...is a punishment. It wouldn’t serve its purpose if we were to just heal it up and pretend it never happened.”

_Oh._

“What, would you like the bullet gone?”

_I mean, ideally._

“I can’t guarantee he’ll do the job the way you wish, but I could summon Anti down here to get rid of it.”

 _Yeah, Anti’s only going to fuck it up even more._ Unless Dark was thinking the same thing Mark was.

“But, if that’s what you want, I suppose-”

“Hm?” _Wow, don’t even give me a chance to say no._

Dark must have anticipated a struggle, wrapping one arm around him and resting his hand on the center of his back. “Hush.” A wave of a tingly, medicinal high invaded Mark’s brain. He resisted, attempting to push out what was forcing itself in, but it was hard. It was making his making his vision go blurry and grayscale. It was making him short of breath. The tingling traveled down his spine and his back arched in response, uncomfortable. He didn’t want this to happen again. He was scared. Scared that Dark might successfully twist his perception of him, to make him actually _like_ having him around. Scared that he himself was going to fall for an obvious trap, that he would do something to make it all the easier for Dark to snatch his mind and soul like a dog snaps up a sandwich out of an unsuspecting child’s hand.

“Relax. It will be easier if you don’t fight it.”

_I don’t... wanna..._

But he had to. Under no control of his own, his body demanded he cave, and so he did. Instantly every last shred of discomfort was dispelled, leaving nothing but an empty calm. No pain, no fear. No real _happiness_ either, per se. Just... peace and ease. And Dark purred in his ear: “Good boy. See? It’s rewarding to listen.” It was a lullaby, sending more pleasant tingles through his head, whether he wanted them or not. “Anti?” he asked in his normal voice. “Come down to the clinic. Bring Jack.”

How was Dark talking to Anti from all the way down here?

In what felt like no time at all, he heard the familiar sounds of Anti bounding down the stairs with a yelping Jack in tow. _“Yooooo!”_

“Ah- Ow!” Jack’s body thudded against the floor. “Huh- What?”

The high dissipated with the removal of Dark’s arm from his skin, dropping Mark back into reality. Jack was just getting up, looking at Mark like he just witnessed him turn into a ghost.

“Yo, Dark, whaddaya want?” The stupid, childish pajamas were still on.

“Mark here...” Dark briefly patted and clasped his knee – the good one, fortunately. “...wants to have the bullet removed.”

“So?”

“...So you know what to do, yes?”

Anti squinted at him for a couple seconds, before gasping in revelation. “ _Ohhh_ , I get it. Hehe.” He narrowed his eyes and grinned down at Mark.

The next thing he knew, Anti had grabbed him by the upper arms and was violently dragging him over to the table, slamming him and bending his back over the edge, and then he grabbed Mark’s legs and threw them on. One by one, Anti tied down each limb with the straps. “Hehe!” He whipped the knife out, and the blade came crashing down before Mark had a chance to brace himself.

_"Under a bed!”_

Anti’s voice hurt as much as the knife violently sawing back and forth across his leg.  Nails-on-chalkboard scraping his eardrums. He could _feel_ it in his temples as much as he could hear it. If Anti was any closer to his face, he’d probably go deaf.

_"A leg and a saw!”_

Mark’s breath hitched and his muscles clenched in response. No mercy, no going easy.

_Red! Teeth! Gnaw!”_

The knife finally snapped the last of the skin and tendons, and Anti dove in to lap up all the blood pouring out, stopping further bleeding in the process. His face came up seconds later, mouth and chin thoroughly painted over, and his tongue lolled out, dripping thick, maroon drool. He grinned at his handiwork, licking his lips and teeth.

Mark’s leg was throbbing. His eyes were soaked. Jack was whimpering in sympathy pain.

 _No more whine!”_ Anti leaped up onto the table, landing on top of Mark’s stomach and knocking the breath out of his lungs. He gave him a hard slap across the cheek, claws adding extra scratches on top. _“Quiet time!”_ He was absolutely _furious_. A monster foaming blood at the mouth, ready to rip him apart fiber by fiber, until he was nothing but a shapeless mound of tissue and bone. Anti’s eyes’ sclerae shifted to black. They choked Mark. Burrowed into his eye sockets. Infested his brain. His brain was hurting. Physically hurting. Temples throbbing. Tunnel vision. Blurry figure. Voices screaming. Ears ringing. Make it stop. Make it stop. _Make it stop. Make it-_

**“Anti!”**

_Gah!_

“What?”

Everything was clear again. Like nothing even happened.

“Stop screwing around and let’s get going!”

“All right, all right.” Anti clambered off the table. “Just let me wash up first.”

“Hurry up, mutt.” Dark went to undo the straps holding Mark down. This time, he didn’t bother do that _thing_ he did, probably out of urgency. And he wasn’t going to kiss it, either, it seemed – probably a bit _too_ grisly for his taste.

Not... Not that Mark wanted him to or anything.

“You.”

“Agh!”

Dark grabbed Jack by the back of his shirt, shoving him towards the table and pinning him down against it with his whole body. “Stay here.”

“What are you doing to me!?” Jack yelled. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay!”

Dark only pushed his head farther down. Mark’s gut instinct was to make him stop. But that was stupid. He had to stop being stupid.

Anti zoomed back over to them and sank his claws into the back of Jack’s neck. Jack didn’t lose consciousness, but his eyes struggled to focus, his mouth hung open, and trying to speak yielded incomprehensible gibberish. Only when his body went limp - eyes still open - did Dark lift himself off him.

Then, Dark yanked Mark by his shirt collar, and it was his turn.

 

* * *

 

"Get up.”

“Mm...”

_Zap!_

Mark bolted upright, heart racing, skull aching. Something had literally shocked him awake. Jack, too. Before them stood Dark, a faint smile across his face, his hands on a cane – _the_ cane, Damien's – squarely in front of him.

Wait... What was that on his wrist? More of that... black-goo-thread-whatever stuff, tying his and Jack’s wrists tightly together. And around each of their necks was a shock collar. Great. Not weird or creepy at all. Especially not with Dark hovering over them, with his _boys_ right here ready to cow to his every command to avoid the worst.

“You are in a sunken submarine.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. _In the ocean!?_   Fucking called it. He fucking called it.

“You must escape through that hatch up there.” Dark pointed to a spot behind and above himself. A ladder extended the height of the wall and up to a hatch on the ceiling, as well as down through an opening in the floor. “But it’s locked. You see all these buttons and switches all around you?" He gestured to a grand control panel, indeed loaded with a fuckton of buttons that would have otherwise intimidated Mark into not coming near them with a ten-foot pole. "Press those in the correct sequence to open it. The rooms on the floor below us will have everything you need in order to figure out which buttons and switches to press. Don’t bother with any other rooms on this upper floor. They are of no concern to you.”

_Sure they aren’t..._

“You must work together to solve the puzzles. If you start to go the wrong way, or if the solution you attempt is incorrect, then whichever one of you suggested going that way or attempted that solution will be shocked by your collar. Do not attempt to ‘share’ the shock in any way. If I suspect that’s happening, severe punishment will be in order.”

_Figured as much._

“The number of times each of you gets shocked will be tracked, and will contribute to your overall standing.” He suddenly paused and took a quick glance down at Mark’s missing leg, then towards his cane, seeming to inspect it before handing it to him. “Here. Use this to help yourself walk.”

Mark gingerly took the cane from his, careful not to brush fingers with Dark. _Why, though?_

“I’m feeling generous,” Dark said, bearing his teeth in a sinister smile and clasping his hands behind his back. “You’re on a time limit, so I figured I should only make it fair.”

“How long?” Jack asked.

“Thirty minutes.”

“So...” Jack shifted his legs a bit. “What happens if time runs out?”

The edges of Dark’s lips curled up for a split second. “I think you know what happens by now.”

Jack didn’t say anything else; his gaze drifted downward towards a random spot in the distance.

Dark gave a hearty chuckle. “Oh, don’t look so scared! You’re not _that_ far under the surface. And if either of you suddenly starts struggling to breathe or swim, you know I’m always here for you.”

_Again, ew._

He unclasped his hands to give a clap of finality. “That wraps up the instructions. If you have no more questions, you’re free to begin. Make it quick.” Without even giving them the chance to ask any more questions – not that it seemed either of them had any, or at least wanted to ask any – Dark took a seat in an armed chair at the very control panel the two would have to come back to. Immediately, he pulled a phone out of his pocket, burying himself in the glow of its screen, almost forcing himself to look like he was paying no attention to them... but Mark knew better.

Jack pushed himself up, then lifted up Mark by the arms, apparently deciding this time he wasn’t going to try and wait for him to attempt standing up on his own. The two made way for the ladder. The coordination climbing down was awkward, with Jack attempting to give Mark commands, and Mark fearing slipping and falling, and both having to move their tied hands at the same time. Yet somehow they survived and didn't fall off.

At the bottom was some kind of living or mess area. An area intended to be warm and inviting, judging by the wood-colored walls and navy blue booths reminiscent of a family restaurant, yet marred by a pigsty of a mess scattered across the tables. There was a vase filled with dried, brown flowers, crumbling so much Mark could hardly tell what kind they were supposed to be. Trays populated the tables – some finished, others not. Patches of mold were starting to grow on most of the unfinished portions. Against all sanity, Jack’s stomach gurgled.

“So I’m guessing there’s something important with the trays? Let’s see, there’s...” He counted quietly to himself. “...seven of them, and three still have food on them- Ah!" His hand shot up to his neck. "All right, so I guess the number of trays has got nothing to do with anything." He lifted one of the finished trays, inspecting the underside. Nothing there. Receiving no shock, he did the same for the others, Mark helping.

_I hope we’re looking in the right place._

“Hey, here’s something.” On the underside of one of the trays was a short series of dots and dashes in blood. Of course. Always blood. “You don’t happen to know Morse code, do you?”

Mark shook his head, and instead reached for the vase, searching inside.

“Hmm.” Jack picked up the tray, turning it upside-down and dumping its contents onto the table. “I’m just gonna keep this-”

“Mm!” _Found something!_

“What?”

Inside the vase was a ripped sheet of paper that clearly translated Morse code with letters. Not very many; chances were, the rest of the pieces were in the rest of the rooms. What few letters were on this one didn’t seem to be in any sort of order. He held it up to Jack, who then read what he could aloud.

“...D...R. DR. So I’m guessing that’s one of the buttons. DR. Remember that.”

 _DR as in “doctor.” Doctor Button. Doctor Iplier. Got it._ Not that he’d be able to tell Jack the letters if the latter forgot.

Not needing the tray anymore, Jack set it down. “All right, I think we can go to the next room.” The two made way for the door, Mark stumbling a bit over his cane, trying to maneuver around the tables. Jack opened it. Here was the galley...

And here was a mutilated corpse on the countertop, filling the room with the stench of decay. Jack froze in place, mouth hanging open, too stunned to say anything – though, honestly, Mark was surprised Jack wasn’t desensitized to all of this yet. He himself already was, mostly. Minus the whole ocean bit. Shit, he  _almost_ forgot about that.

Mark made the first move towards the corpse. Still fully dressed, but his clothes and skin were marred with dozens and dozens of jagged slashes, with one square chunk taken out of the right ankle of his pants. His face was perpetually frozen in terror and anguish, screaming in response to the blade against his eyes and nose – whatever got him must have started doing its work while he was still alive. Holes forming Morse code were carved into his cheek.

“You think Anti did it?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, I wanted to ask Dark where Anti was, but I didn’t. I was kind of scared to ask questions."

_Yeah, you should be._

"I haven’t seen Anti around. I have a feeling he’s the source of all the blood and...” He looked and extended his free hand towards the body. “...that.”

Mark nodded in understanding. Made sense.

“Let’s look in the cupboards and drawers, at least. I’m guessing there’ll probably be another piece of Morse paper.”

Some of the cupboards were up pretty high, and Mark, at least, didn’t see any stools anywhere. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they were too short to see what was up in there.

Wait. The cane. He flicked open the cupboard and checked the shelves inside by scraping the cane against them. Very lucky for him, he was rewarded with a piece of code paper, which Jack snatched out of the air, laying it onto the counter. Mark put the first piece alongside it, just in case.

“Let’s see...” Jack walked over and set the papers on the counter next to the corpse’s cheek. “IA. DR and IA. DR, IA.”

 _So you don’t even need me to help you remember, then._ Did these letters mean anything?

“Okay, so it looks like each piece of paper has the letters that are in that room.”

S _eems a little... easy._ Maybe there was going to be some kind of a catch later.

“Next room?” Jack tugged Mark along back towards the door they came from. But as soon as he touched the handle, they both got shocked, jumping and grabbing at their collars. “Hah... Ah... Okay, so I guess there’s something else in here, then? Check the drawers; we haven’t looked in all of them.”

They started with the one on the far left, working their way down the line. The first two were empty, but something caught Mark’s ear in the third one. This one... Odd, high-pitched sounds came out of it, so faintly as to not be noticeable without putting his ear next to it. He couldn’t really identify what it was – a device of some kind? Only one way to find out-

“Ew!”

They were greeted with the sight of a limp but still-breathing rat with a pocketknife jammed halfway to the hilt into its stomach, letting out little whimpers and whines that unsettled Mark even more than the dead guy behind him. Still alive. Barely. But alive, and suffering. Not for much longer, though. No way was it going to make it out of this. He saw two options with the knife: pull it out, or push it all the way in. He sure didn’t want to push it in. And considering there was nothing else left in these drawers or cupboards, maybe they’d have to use the knife for something else in another room.

Mark grabbed the rat by the neck using his tied hand, startling Jack. It squirmed and screamed under him.

“Oh... What are-”

He pulled it out. The rat squealed and its stomach spurted blood. It still didn’t move from its spot. Mark’s heart pounded, and a lump drew in his throat. He was starting to regret this. But he didn’t get shocked, so it must have been what the “game” required them to do.  _Only because I have to. I'm only doing this because I have to._

Jack pulled their hands away as soon as he could. “I hate it. I hate it.”

Eventually, the rat’s squeals stopped. Whether it was finally dead or just unconscious, Mark didn’t know; only hoped that it wasn’t suffering anymore. They had a knife now. A grisly pocketknife. So what were they supposed to do with it?

Unless... That square that was cut out of the guy’s pant leg was definitely deliberate. Mark wanted to check it out some more, to make sure nothing was hidden in there.

Yet only two hobbling steps back towards it, he was shocked.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve got everything we need in this room.” Jack tugged at him. “Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.”

He’d just have to remember the square. Right ankle. He’d remember. DR, IA. He’d remember.

“I have no idea how much time’s gone by,” Jack said as they went back through the door into the dining area. “I’d guess around, maybe...  ten minutes? Most?”

_Your guess is as good as mine._

The opposite door opened with loud creaks and squeals that made Jack grit his teeth. No shocks. That was good. On the other side was what looked to be the sleeping quarters, with long rows of bunks stacked three high on both sides. Curtains draped over all of the bunks, fully concealing what was inside.

“Who wants to make a bet there’s dead dudes in here?” Jack asked as he pulled back one of the curtains, revealing nothing of immediate interest. “Smells like dead dudes, anyway.”

Kind of, yeah, but to Mark... something was different somehow. Dead body, yes, but something else was there, too. Something threatening to burn his nose hairs. Something more like a sewer, or a septic tank. Then again, shouldn’t there be a bathroom here somewhere? Maybe it was on the other side of that door. Regardless, Mark only focused on the here and now. They’d get there when they’d get there. For now, he just lifted up the curtains over the bunks on his side of the aisle. Neither of them was getting shocked, so there _had_ to be something in here. Under the pillows, maybe? It was impossible for them to properly divide and conquer due to the black rope stuff.

“ _Ohhh_ , God, there’s someone up there.” The tone in his voice suggested... yup, exactly that. Another dead man. He was up on the top bunk, middle, left-hand side - impossible to inspect from down here. There didn’t seem to be an obvious way to climb up there in this bound-and-dismembered state.

So instead, Mark reached up and tucked the handle of the cane under the man’s collar.

“What are you doing?”

 _Stay back,_ Mark gestured with his arm across Jack’s chest. He tugged at the collar, pulling the man closer and closer to falling down.

Rather than complain again, Jack silently let it happen, only making noise from jumping when the body thudded onto the floor.

“Oh-ho, God...!”

Mark turned him over face-up with the cane, still not really wanting to touch him directly. This guy’s face was in even worse shape than the galley guy’s. His left temple and cheek bone had large, oozing dents pounded in, and his eye bulged out of its socket – that bit made him shudder. The rest of his body seemed fine, however. No cuts or stab wounds, no blood on his clothes, no joints or non-joints pointing the wrong way.

"Fucking nasty,” Jack said to himself. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over look at stuff like this.”

Mark had a feeling he knew what to do. He eased himself – and Jack – downward, dropping to his hands and knees and grabbing the ankle of the man’s pants.

“I trust you know what you’re doing?”

Mark was about to think that even _he_ didn’t trust he knew what he was doing when he found another piece of paper – unfortunately by cutting through it. That was okay, that was okay, they should still be able to read it. Not the end of the world. Just be careful... He cut a wider section off the man’s pants, pulling out the now-multiple pieces of translation and handing them to Jack, hoping he didn’t shred them too much. That was a third “corner” done. Assuming it was split into equally-sized parts, the next one would be the last.

Jack pushed himself up and lifted Mark the same way as last time. But he paused where he was, glancing around the room.

_So where’s the Morse code in this room, then?_

Jack suddenly jumped a small bit, his eyes directed towards one of the bunks closest to the next door. “Did you see that?” He pointed his finger at it. “That curtain moved.”

 _Huh?_ That bunk was in the corner of Mark’s eye right as Jack jumped, and _he_ didn’t see anything move. He shook his head. Either he missed it, or Jack was seeing things. Then again, stranger things have happened.

“...Should we go look?” he asked, voice cracking.

Mark shrugged.

Shaking, Jack took the first tentative step forward. The nose-burning smell got stronger. It was definitely coming out of the bathroom. Or whatever it was.

At the bed, Jack pulled back the curtain. Nothing was there. The shakiness quelled, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps nothing was here after all. Still, Mark picked up and checked the pillow.

On the flip side was the code, cut into it.

Had to be a coincidence... right?

“Here.” Jack held out the carved-up pieces, fitting them together well enough to read. “SM. Got it. DR, IA, SM.”

_Snort._

“Yeah, I know. Ha, ha, funny, let’s go. I don’t want to hang around here anymore.”

 _...Fair enough._ Now all that was left was... whatever was behind the next door...

J _ust get it over with._

...........

It was exactly as bad as he thought it would be. A bathroom with sludge and black water splattered across the floor and walls. His nostrils burned to a crisp. Jack gagged, swallowed, and held his fist up to his mouth. Did he seriously have anything in his stomach to puke up?

It was unavoidable. If they wanted to progress, they’d have to trudge through it, most likely touch it with their bare hands. How did this even happen, anyway?

Mark was the one who took the lead, forcing Jack along whether he wanted to or not. Chances were that the malfunctioning toilet was the one with the code. The one in the middle was looking mighty suspicious, having the most thick and even coating surrounding it.

Dark better not punish him for getting figurative or literal shit on his cane.

Grime coated the palm of Mark’s hand as he pushed open the stall door. Yeah, this was definitely the one. And someone apparently used the mess to scrawl something odd on the wall above the toilet:  _press B lol_.

“Uh, what?”

... _Oh, I know what that is_. Mark attempted to gesture to Jack what it meant. A few seconds of flailing his arms later, Jack finally understood.

“Ohhh, you think it’s referring to your whole ‘B-to-blow’ thing? So, what, we’re supposed to blow something?”

 _Good choice of words there, Jack._ Out of curiosity, Mark lifted up the seat, finding a half-drenched piece of paper taped to the underside.

“Wait, is that it?”

Mark took a great level of care in peeling it off, hoping and praying that it wouldn’t fall apart in his hands. Of course, having one hand tied to closely and tightly to Jack’s meant the backs of his fingers brushed against the seat, too.

"Eugh...”

_Oh, stop being such a baby._

The paper threatened to disintegrate in his hand, and he gingerly cradled it like a newborn kitten. Much of it was horribly smudged and illegible. If they needed one of the smudged letters, they were probably boned.

“So I’m guessing the B-to-blow’ thing will probably reveal the Morse in this room.” Jack backed out, flinching and recoiling when his back touched the door.

As they scanned the heads for any clues, the only idea that popped into Mark’s head was the mirror over the sink.

...Wait, that actually made perfect sense.

He tugged Jack’s wrist, pointing to the mirror, then back to the message, then back to the mirror again.

“Blow on the mirror?”

Nod.

“Uh, okay.” Jack did as he was told, approaching the mirror and-

Jesus Christ...

Mark never really took the time to look at himself in his own bathroom mirror, and he especially wouldn’t have had anything “normal” to compare himself to, but looking now, _fuck_ , he was wreck. Seeing his red, swollen, sealed-shut lips, the claw marks slashed across the side of his face, and the serrated edge of the hole in his cheek, and the teeth and gums greeting him from underneath, ew. Contrast Jack: pristine Jack, not a scratch in sight. Jack, who – hunger aside – got away scot-free thus far. What few wounds had been carved or broken into him have been healed without a trace. Contrast Mark, who’d taken the brunt of the _real_ torture. The torture that actually impacted his performance. The torture that actually left physical scars that he doubted would be healed. The bitterness was coming back.

Something clicked.

It was something he’d vaguely felt before, earlier, at the end of the first challenge. _Resentment._  When Jack kicked him off the cliff, despite him having said that he just wanted to let whatever happens, happen... When Jack started asking questions, despite previously bitching at Mark for doing the same...Yet Mark had been so focused on not fucking up this challenge that in the last however-long-it’s-been-since-they-started, he'd forgotten about the things Jack said and did to him. For a brief moment, he’d forgotten that Jack was supposed to be his enemy here.

The reflection made him realize... just how wrong forgetting that was.

.........

Mark wanted Jack **dead**.

And he wanted to do it himself. He wanted to take Anti’s knife and plunge it straight through Jack’s ribs, and reach in and rip out his still-beating heart. Or jam it directly into one of his eye sockets, twisting it and impaling it up into his brain. Or slice off every finger and toe one by one, and continue cutting him apart piece by tiny, agonizing piece until he was screaming and begging for mercy. A whirlwind of thoughts that didn’t cease even as the reflection was blurred by the fog of Jack’s breath, indeed revealing a pattern that refused to butt up.

“...Mark? Mark.”

“Hm?”

“The code, Mark. The paper?”

 _...Oh, yeah, right._ He snapped out of it enough to hold up the pieces of code. This new one was...

“...Something-E. I literally can’t make out what the first letter is.”

 _Neither can I._ Mark checked and double-checked the first letter against all the legible bits and pieces. But none of them matched. It had to be on the toilet piece, so either... T or... or K, or... Which letters weren’t used? _A... B... C... D-_

“Five minutes,” they heard Dark's bellowing voice announce.

“Fuck.” Jack yanked their wrists and started running, almost causing Mark to topple over. “I don’t wanna waste time right now. We have all the pieces we’re gonna get. We’ll just have to guess the last one.

Fine by Mark. _DR, IA, SM, something-E. DR, IA, SM, something-E._

They made a mad rush for the ladder. As much of a rush as the cane allowed, anyway. By now, though, Mark was comfortable enough using it that he didn’t feel as though he’d faceplant, even with Jack’s wrist-jerking. They were pretty decent at navigating the ladder this time, too.

Dark was seated right where they left him, scrolling through his phone, paying them little heed, other than standing up and walking away to get out of their way. They immediately started scanning over the control panel as soon as they got there, searching for the correct buttons. Mark found one labeled SM, pressing it. It lit up, and stayed lit. Must have been good. IA was up towards the top middle, and he pressed that. Meanwhile, Jack had DR on his side. Three buttons lit up. Now all that was left... was the guessing game.

“Gimme the papers,” Jack ordered. Mark obliged, and Jack studied the code, which letters were taken up, which ones remained possibilities-

“Three minutes.”

“A-ah...!” Jack started panicking. ‘I-I’m just gonna guess, okay.” Hurriedly he pressed one of the ones with an E as the second letter. That one was CE. The button didn’t stay lit up, and he was shocked.

Mark did nothing but watch. _Don’t share the shock,_ he was told. How convenient.

PE. No good. Shock.

YE. No good. Shock.

WE. No good. Shock.

“Is that truly the most efficient method?” Dark asked. “You’re racking up quite the punishment, Jack.”

Jack’s breathing quickened. He swallowed. Mark felt the shakiness through the cuffs. He was calm. Watching Jack fall apart under pressure was a treat.

KE. Good. No shock.

All three remained still for a solid few seconds. No motion, just the creaks and groans of metal moving overhead and Jack’s incessant breathing. Without standing up, without any fanfare, without even looking at them, Dark gave a curt, “Two minutes.”

They still had to actually escape, and just in the nick of time, they could.

Mark tossed the cane aside and grabbed the first bar of the ladder. They’d already done this twice. This should be easy. And he was going to win this. Jack fucked up so much at the control panel, Mark was _bound_ to walk away from this one. It was about goddamn time.

Only when they reached the hatch, and he could see the faintest hint of a great amount of pressure being put on it, did Mark suddenly remember. Remember where they were. Remember right as Jack undid the latch.

They must have both somehow forgotten somewhere along the way.

And they screamed as the salty water knocked them all the way back down, and filled Mark’s lungs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in piss.


	4. Nothing to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last challenge. Don't know what else there is to say. Nothing, I guess. Ha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTL OTL OTL OTL OTL
> 
> There’s an awful lot of fan disservice in this chapter. Or fanservice. Depending on who you are as a person.
> 
> My personal biggest squick is also in this. Honestly, I have no idea how I can write it myself with no problem, but not read (or esp. watch) someone else's iteration without seeing black spots.
> 
>  
> 
> **[February 4, 2019 Update: This chapter has been revised. Changes listed at the end note.]**

_Everything hurts. He’s tied up in that dungeon once again, and everything is near-pitch black, except for his own naked body. Scarred, and hurting. Burns and bruises cover his skin. His mouth is still sealed._

_He hears Anti’s disembodied voice call out, “Markimoo, Markimoo, what’s a boy gonna do?” In front of himself, a pair of tiny yellow lights reveal themselves. They’re eyes. Eyes of a rat. Multiple rats. More beady yellow eyes open and reveal themselves all around him. They don’t stop. There must be hundreds, thousands of squeaks chattering in chorus._

_“Markimoo, Markimoo, you know where these guys bitin’ you.”_

_Immediately, he tries to cross and fold his legs, yet no matter how he arranges them, he can always sense one open spot the rats will be able to access. Anti giggles. There is no escape._

_“Be free!” he commands. And all at once, the rats swarm, shrieking their battle cry._

_Mark braces for impact._

_He can’t brace for so many teeth sinking into his skin everywhere. Teeth sinking into his feet, legs, balls. One just gnawed off the tip of his penis. He is_ screaming _through the threads. Little claws climb up and scratch his skin, and bite into his stomach, his chest, his nipples, his Adam’s apple. A pile of rats, all clambered onto his body, devouring him, eating holes and burrowing their faces inside._

_One rat climbs up the front of his face, clinging to his nose. It sniffs his eyeball._

_It bites._

* * *

 

Mark awoke sitting up, leaning against a hard surface using his arm as a pillow, and getting his side sprayed with warm water. Was he in the shower? When did he get in here? His arm was all pins and needles, too. His cut cheek and leg throbbed and burned. His lungs felt like they threatened to rip apart with every breath, forcing him to take quick and shallow ones.

Oh, God. Dark was here. He had the shower head in hand, spraying it over Mark’s body and rinsing off the salt and sewage and stink. Oh, God. That meant Mark was naked. No. This was the last thing he wanted. This was the opposite of good. He was asleep for _how_ long, with Dark free to stare at his naked body _including his junk_ for as long as he pleased? Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross.

“Hello, my boy.”

_No ‘rise and shine’ this time?_

“I didn’t think you would wake up. You didn’t respond at all to Anti unceremoniously tossing you in here. Tilt your head back.”

Mark did as he was told, and Dark sprayed the water over him, sending pleasant tingles over his scalp.

 _Wait. He’s washing my fucking hair!?_ Disturbed, Mark recoiled in response to Dark touching his floof. Nuh-uh. Nuh-uh. Not like this. It was bad enough being hugged in his underwear. This was a line crossed. He made a grab for the shower head. Couldn’t he just do it by hims-

Dark clamped down on his shoulder, forcing the high into him. He couldn’t even fight back like last time, succumbing instantly. The bathroom became a fog. Shapes lost their shapes. Colors lost their colors. Mark was vaguely aware of something black and gray rubbing his hair, and coming up to his face, repeatedly touching his wounded cheek. But nothing more.

 

* * *

 

_“What up, Daddio?”_

_“Call me that again and you forfeit everything.”_

_“Sure thing, old man.”_

**_Grumble._ **

_“So, anyway, took my dude down to the clinic. Might wanna-”_

**_“Unsupervised!?”_ **

_“He’s strapped down, dude. Chill. Anyway, you might wanna wake your dude up and head on down soon.”_

_“I’ll wake him when I feel like it.”_

_“Well, do it quick, ‘cause I don’t wanna have to have done all that for no reason.”_

_“You’re an idiot.”_

_“I’m your idiot.”_

_“Unfortunately.”_

 

* * *

 

“Wake up!”

_Slap._

“Mm!”

Mark was smacked awake, sitting upright in a chair now. Back in the clinic. Right next to Jack, the two facing opposite directions. Neither had a shirt on. Towels were laid on the floor underneath their chairs; Jack’s face was downturned towards them. Oh, yeah. He was going to be punished, wasn’t he? **And Mark was going to do it.**

“You sure can sleep a lot,” Anti said.

From amidst an array of surgical and dubiously-surgical instruments on a nearby cart, Dark picked up a set of odd claw-like devices, with rings around the insides for fitting onto one’s fingers.

“Man, Dark, why you gotta be like that? I got my own claws, you know.” Anti held up and wiggled his fingers. Dark paid no attention to him.

“This is Mark’s job, not yours. Here, give me your hand.” He slipped them onto Mark’s fingers. “You will use these to remove one of Jack’s eyes.”

_What!?_

_“No!”_ Jack jumped out of the chair, and before he could even take one step, he was stopped and shoved back into a sit by a simple stern look from Dark. “No, no, no, no...”

Mark let out a panicked whine.

“Do it or risk termination.”

Anti fidgeted in place, either upset that Mark was the one designated to do the deed, or antsy and ready to watch the blood and vitreous pour. Probably a mix of both.

Mark spent a couple seconds staring at the claws, one on each thumb and first two fingers. This was an incredible power granted to him. His heart thumped in jittery anticipation. Shouldn’t this disgust him? Horrify him? Make him vomit?

He blinked hard. _Jack, I’m sorry... I’m sorry for everything..._ Using one hand’s claws to hold Jack’s eyelids open, he slowly pushed all the tremoring claws of the other into the corners and top of his eye. Jack _screeched._

"Don't do it slow! Just get it over with!"

Jack's screams  **did nothing to him. Don't worry about him.**

"My, Mark... I would have thought you'd show a _little_ concern..."

He failed to keep the eyeball intact; it deflated and fell apart in his hand, sticky fluid spilling over his fingertips. Jack's full-body trembling and sharp breathing and recoiling **is** **only making this process longer and messier than it needs to be. Sit still, Jack!**

"Maybe you really don't care that much about what happens in the end...

"Desperate boy," Anti added.

His vision turned hazy, his mind blurring out the scene as if to protect itself. Large chunks, pulled out and tossed to the floor. Blood joining the clear fluid, a pink tear streaking down Jack's face. Tendons and fatty tissue still attached to the sides. If it weren't for Dark pointing it out, he wouldn't have noticed he wasn't finished.

"Clear it all out," he commanded.

**Mark did as he was told with no hesitation, mindlessly scraping away at the sides of the socket. Jack's screams are of no concern. This is what he deserves.**

And as soon as it was finished, the switch in his brain flipped back on. The pink slop coated his hands, Jack’s face, the towels, the floor...

It froze him.

“Damn!” Anti gave a little laugh in joy and surprise.

Jack slumped back, remaining eye blinking slowly and leaking tears, voice continuing to emit weak moans and whines. Nausea bubbled in Mark's stomach. How did he push through this?

“Now, see, Dark, if you’d’ve let _me_ do the eye-pulling, I would’ve kept it intact, and then I’d have a cute little septic eye!”

Mark leaned back in his chair, and stared down at his hands, claws, and fingertips coated in vitreous and bits. He... he really did it. He really did this.

A dead-tired eye and an empty, bloody socket stared back at him - the last straw. He puked on the floor, missing the towels.

 

* * *

 

It’d been about an hour, Mark guessed, and Jack still hadn’t moved from his spot. He’d been shifting positions every now and then as evidence he wasn’t sleeping, yet at no point did he ever bother to sit up, get out of bed, or talk. To be fair, Mark hadn’t, either. It was fascinating, watching him. Wonder what Jack was thinking about? Wonder what he saw? Did people’s vision go to black when their eyes were gouged out? Did their brain try to make pictures out of the blank slate? If only he could ask.

Though, if he did, Jack would probably snap at him for being so callous.

He finally quit staring and curled up facing away from Jack, and towards his own window. The sky was clear and starry again tonight. Once again, thoughts of home resurfaced. Thoughts of the two girls at home he loved more than himself. Thoughts of his friends and his channel and the people who watched it.

...Did they know? Surely Amy and his friends have noticed he was gone by now, but did the community know anything was up? Were they told of Mark’s disappearance? Or were they just laughing it off as a broken schedule? Or a collusion with the equally-missing Jack?

He... he never said goodbye, did he? He told them he’d see them in the next video. But there would be no next video.

_Please... Amy, Ethan, Tyler, Kathryn, everyone... Tell them something’s wrong. Tell them it’s no joke._

**...He needed to go home now more than ever.**

**The fantasy resurfaced. In Mark’s head, a clear vision: they are back in the dungeon. Jack is tied to a stake, and Mark is free to do to him anything that he pleases. But rather than utilize the more grisly instruments at his disposal, he picks up a knife, and slowly impales it through his heart. A painful, yet still anticlimactic death befitting of such a heaping pile of scrap who deserves no special fanfare.**

**The vision played in his mind again, and again, and again, and again...**

_What are you thinking, Mark!?_

Suddenly, he jolted out of his headspace. His heart pounded. No! That was fucked up! Why did he think that? Why did he _want_ that? Why was he feeling this way?

_What the fuck have they done to me!?_

Dark did something to him. There wasn't a doubt. He had to have done something. He had to be mind-controlling him somehow. There was just no way Mark would ever,  _ever_ think these kinds of things on his own accord. There just...

...wouldn't be a way... he would ever...

_...right?_

Little whines and whimpers came out of Jack’s bed. Sleep. Mark needed sleep.

 

* * *

 

_He’s dreaming again. He knows, because his wounds are gone: his leg is back, his cheek is intact, his mouth is free. But Mark fears talking or making noise regardless, because he believes the myriad of Darkiplier mannequins will be triggered into motion at the sound of his voice. Buried amidst racks upon racks of the exact same gray suit, he struggles to find the doors to the parking lot. The distance between him and the obvious direction – the wall that’s all window – never closes no matter how much he runs._

_But he’s scared to stop running. The mannequins closest to him are oriented to face him, judge him, punish him if he steps one toe out of line._

_He looks directly in one’s face, and stops. His blood vessels are throbbing. Heat rushes to his cheeks. Beads of sweat roll off his brow. And he’s paralyzed. He doesn’t know what to do to get out of here._

_It seems like the mannequin knows the answer. But Mark doesn’t want to ask. The threat of submitting himself to it is too great._

_He turns around, and is struck face-to-face._

* * *

 

“Rise and shine.”

All he registered was that mannequin inches from his face, touching him. Mark screamed and threw himself back, only to realize through pressure squeezing it shut that his mouth was still sewn, and also that there was a wall behind his skull.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Mark.” Dark reached out to the side of his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

 _Sure, you didn’t._ Didn’t hurt Mark too bad, only made him see stars for a few seconds. Dark took his hand back once Mark scooted himself off the wall.

“Break-fast! Break-fast! Break-fast!” Anti was bouncily squatting in place behind Dark, fists balled up in front of him, in real or feigned excitement. The trays were on his and Jack’s respective nightstands. No bad smells this time around. In fact, both of them had been served the same thing: huge omelets filled with pieces of bacon, onions, and peppers, with orange juice to drink. Mark graciously took it into his lap as Dark handed it to him, and glanced over to Jack and Dark handed him his.

He wouldn’t eat his food. Despite having thrown up what little he was able to get down yesterday, Jack merely picked a bit at it. He even set it back on his nightstand. Getting his eye ripped out shouldn’t have done _that_ much damage to him, should it have? Mark supposed it didn’t matter. No longer needing to worry about hiding from Jack the weirdness of shoving food through the side of his face, he took to immediately scarfing it down.

“What’s the matter, Jack?” Anti asked, lip stuck out in a mocking pout and whine. “Is our septic baby getting some sepawation anxiety? Does he miss his fwiends? His communiddy?”

Frustrated and upset, Jack flipped himself onto his side facing the wall and yanked the covers over his head.

“Aw, does it upset you, reminding you what you’re missing, and who’s missing you? I bet someone out there’s crying themself to sleep, not knowing where the source of their happiness is or what happened to him.”

“Stop...”

“Hey, you finally said something!” Anti started clapping like a toddler. “Yaaay! Too bad I’m not gonna. You’re kinda neck-and-neck right now, and I wanna help you win by reminding you what we’re playing for here. Do you remember what the last thing you made for them was?”

This was kind of fucked up. But with Dark still right there, Mark did nothing.

“Your last video was pretty lackluster, wasn’t it? One you made in kind of a last-minute rush?”

Jack stifled his sobs. This was absolutely awful. This was the exact same bullshit that was running through Mark’s head just last night. Was it a coincidence?

“Okay, Anti,” Dark said, “you’ve said your piece.”

Anti ignored him. “Guess you won’t be able to see all those dudes in the next video.”

Jack threw the covers off himself and tried to storm out, tripping over his own feet and bashing his chin against his nightstand, rattling his tray enough to spill a bit of the orange juice. He was driven to tears.

“Anti.”

Anger started boiling inside Mark.

Jack stumbled towards his bathroom door, clumsily bonking into it before successfully opening it and hiding inside. All the while, Anti continued his taunting, and Jack, his sobbing.

“You gonna go hope and pray to whatever gods you think are out there that your little community can hear your cry for help? Or that you can telepathically communicate your last words to them?”

_“Leave me alone!”_

**“Enough!”**

_Thud!_

Dark punching the wall got Anti’s attention, causing him to freeze. A dent remained.

“You got your desired effect, Anti, now shut up and let the boy eat!”

“But he’s _not_ eating, “he complained. “I thought I’d remind him of what he has to lose if he loses.”

Dark took a deep, long breath, eyes closed, trying to retain his composure. “Anti, that’s not the best way to go about doing that. Your methods are a little... You know what, just come with me. I think you just need a little break away from this whole thing.”

“Do not.”

**“Don’t test me.”**

Anti flinched back like an anxious cat, locking eyes with Dark for several seconds. Damn. Dark scared even Anti. Mark remembered joking about Anti tattling to him like a kid to his dad, but... maybe there was some degree of truth to that. Maybe Dark had some kind of authority over Anti. Come to think of it, had Mark ever seen Anti tell Dark what to do, rather than the other way around?

With the way Anti slumped as he followed Dark out, it really seemed like Mark was on to something. As for if it meant anything for him and Jack, well... that was to be determined.

 

* * *

 

It was a long time before Jack came out of the bathroom. A long time of Mark sitting and absorbing the pain that still lingered in his severed leg. He pulled the breakfast tray onto his lap, and only took two bites before speaking.

“Mark?”

“Hm?”

“Do you hate me?”

 _I don’t know._ “Hm-mm.” He shook his head.

“It’s just..." Jack turned over to face Mark. "I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but you just seemed a lot... meaner yesterday than the two days before.”

 _We’re supposed to be. I don’t really like that fact, but we are._ Unsure what facial reaction to give, he dropped his gaze towards the floor.

“I’m just...” Jack never finished that thought. “Never mind. I said whatever happens, happens. Right?”

_You sure did._

“It’s not fair to ask you to act any differently.”

**_I can tell you’re trying to get me to pity you._**

“Forget I said anything.”

**_I won’t._ **

All conversation ended, and Jack continued picking at his food. Cold and stale by now, it should’ve tasted like heaven nonetheless. Yet Jack was small with his bites and slow with his chewing. Like... Dejected. Like he just didn’t care anymore. Like he was begging for death inside.

There was only one more challenge between them and that death.

This was a weird feeling. The Gauntlet was almost done. Any moment now would be the final challenge. In no way was Mark going to miss it once it was over. But the faintest hint of that bittersweet, nostalgic feeling that accompanied endings persisted in what little was left of his heart.

Slowly but surely, Jack finished the omelet, and slid back under the covers.

 

* * *

 

The door clicked and cracked open.

“Boys. It’s time.”

Mark furrowed his brow. _Really? It’s still early in the day._

“This challenge is a little different from the first two.”

Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. Even Anti, hanging around in the doorframe behind Dark, was treating this moment with relative seriousness – no laughter, no dicking around.

Dark had the wheelchair back, and pushed it up to Mark, who climbed inside.

“Jack.”

Jack pushed himself out of bed and held out his arm to take Dark’s, head hanging.

And everyone descended into the black in silence.

 

* * *

 

The descent took them back down into the dungeon, where they first woke up. There, to Mark’s left, was the cell that contained them that first day they were brought here, now with a pair of student desks, on opposite ends of the cell, each with a piece of paper and a pen. As Dark brought them inside, Mark saw on one of the slate tiles in front of the bars a pair of crudely-drawn stick figures, one with its arms crossed, bangs, and a scowl across its face, and the other with spiky hair, a fangy grin, a knife in hand, and a puddle of sorts around its feet.

Oddly, they were placed freely in the chairs, without being tied down – something Mark had kind of expected Dark to do. He glanced back at Anti, who was longingly staring down at the drawing. Was he proud? Upset? Torn? He couldn’t tell.

“Anti.”

“Hm?” Anti’s ears perked up at the sound of Dark speaking his name. “Oh, yeah. Coming.” He jogged over to the middle of the room and plopped himself down.

“Are you good to go?”

Anti unsheathed the knife from his belt. “Sure am.”

“Very well.”

Now it made sense why they were doing this during the midday hours, as the light from the windows above was all Mark had to see what he was doing.

“You will both write an answer for each question that I ask you. Do not speak out loud once the test begins. We will go over your answers at the end. If we don’t like what you’ve written, you get stabbed somewhere in the arm.”

Jack flinched a little at that.

“Whoever is stabbed the lesser number of times is the winner.”

“What if there’s a tie?” Jack asked.

“Then there’s a tie. One of you is currently _just_ ahead of the other, so a tie would lead to him winning.”

**_It’s me, I bet._**

“What if there’s a tie in the overall Gauntlet?”

Come to think of it, there wasn’t anything in the rules that specified the course of action if there was a tie at the end.

Anti crawled over to him, standing and leaning onto Jack’s desk and making him attempt to back away from his breath. “You _reeaally_ want me to come up with a tiebreaker?”

“N-no...”

“Then don’t tie! Easy as that.” Anti went back to his spot.

“All right,” Dark said, “are you finished asking inane questions now? I’m sure you want to get this done and over with.”

“...Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s begin.” Dark’s voice raised in volume, taking command of the room. “Question one: Do you want to go home?”

Seemed obvious to Mark it should have been yes, so he wrote that. He glanced over to Jack. 

Anti lay down onto the floor, crossing his arms and using them as a pillow. With some of his cheek smushed up and his eyelids drooping, Mark could almost say Anti looked kind of cute.

Almost.

“Question two: Do you think you will win?”

**_Absolutely._ **

...Huh? Wait. How was he so confident in that? He wrote ‘yes’. Almost... automatically, somehow? Dark wasn’t touching him. Dark was over there, under the windows, nowhere near either of them.

Anti’s eyes fluttered and drifted shut. 

“Question three: Would your loved ones at home be proud of you?”

...What?

“Uh...”

“No talking,” Dark reminded him. Jack didn’t seem know what to write. His hand trembled; his eyes blinked rapidly.

Anti’s eyes flung open, and he flipped his head around to bore his eyes into Jack's face.

Mark quickly scribbled out a ‘no’. He didn’t know. He figured that even if his loved ones weren’t especially angry with anything he did, he doubted they’d be _proud_ , per se. Mostly, he just didn’t want to face the wrath of Dark and Anti if he didn’t answer at all.

“Jack? You need to write something.”

“I-I don’t-”

Anti jumped up and slammed his knife down across the bridge of Jack’s nose, leaving a nasty, spurting diagonal gash. “What’d we say about talking?”

Jack cried, breathing through his mouth and swallowing blood trickling down the back of his throat. Some of it dripped onto his paper. Anti licked his lips.

“We’re moving on. Question fou- Anti...”

Anti wiped his finger on the bottom of Jack’s chin as a spot of blood was dripping off, sticking it in his mouth. At Dark’s scolding mother tone, he gave his finger an obnoxious slurp, leaving it thickly coated in shiny spit. “What?”

Dark opened his mouth as if to chastise him, but changed his mind. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t know why I continue to bother trying to correct your behavior.”

A satisfied smile. Another sample of chin blood. A shudder from Jack.

Dark sighed. “All right. Question four: Are you satisfied with your performance thus far?”

 _Hmm..._ Should he answer ‘yes’ because he was winning? He _was_ winning, right? Fuck it, he wrote it down. Better to write a wrong answer than none at all, he figured out.

Jack seemed to figure that out, too, quickly writing his own answer.

“Question five: Are you ready to kill him?”

 **Mark scribbled down a ‘yes’ with no hesitation.** Anti, hearing the frantic writing, side-eyed Mark, squinting, a little suspicious. Then his eyes flicked back to Jack, who wiped his sleeve across his face, absorbing as much of the blood as he could, and wincing at pushing his nose too much.  But the blood kept flowing out, and soon he just held his arm up there, soaking it up.

“Question six: Are you scared?”

_Ye- **No.**_

Autopilot kicked in again. He wrote ‘no’. How come he wrote ‘no’? He wanted to write ‘yes’. They were given pens, so he couldn’t erase it. Could he cross it out?

He made a move to do so, **and decided against it. This is the right choice. He feels no fear. Indeed, he feels little of anything at all.**

**_That’s right. I’m a good boy._ **

“Mark? Yo.” Anti poked him in the forehead, jolting him out of his headspace. “What’s going on with you, man? Dark, are you doing something weird to him?”

“Do you see me touching him?"

Anti scowled. So Mark assumed that meant Anti knew something about that.

“I didn’t think either of them were behaving oddly." Dark cocked his head with such obviously fake innocence. "What did you see?”

“He was just like, staring at his paper, with his pen up like he was ready to write something else.” Anti mimicked the motion, with an overly-dead stare into the desk.

“Hmm.” Dark glanced down at Mark. Nothing _seemed_ odd. “Well, Anti, I’m sure these two have certainly been negatively affected by their experiences here. You must have seen how they acted in their room last night, correct?”

Anti squinted.

“I’m sure whatever you may have seen was merely a result of that.”

“...Hmph.” Anti crossed his arms and sat back down onto the floor, pouting. “Just read the last one.”

_Oh, thank God there’s only one more._

Dark sighed and shook his head, clearly done with Anti. “Okay, question seven: Do you have regrets in your life?”

_Do I? I feel like... No, I definitely have some. Doesn’t everyone?_

**He watched his hand write a ‘no’** **on the paper.**

_...I don’t know what’s going on anymore._

“Pens down,” Dark announced. “That will be all.”

“Yay, finally.” Anti hopped up and grabbed Jack's desk by the chair - startling him - and slid it to the middle of the room. Then, he did the same for Mark, putting them side-by-side and leaving their arms close to touching.

The sliding was kind of childishly fun, if he could be honest.

“Gimme your arms, guys.” He grabbed their right arms himself, turning them palm-side up and rolling the sleeves up to their elbows.

Jack quivered beside him. This was one of his big fears, wasn’t it?

...Who was he kidding. The guy endured having his eyeball ripped out.

Anti rotated the tests so he could read them. “Okay, Dark, read ‘em off.”

“For wanting to go home, they should have both said yes.”

Anti glanced back and forth between the tests, furrowing his brow. “Man. That sucks.”

“For believing they would win, Mark should have said yes and Jack should have said no.”

 _They can be different?_ Since it was Mark yes and Jack no, did that mean Mark was winning?

Anti’s eyes widened when he saw Jack’s test. He plunged the knife into his forearm. Jack wailed, the sound grating Mark’s ear. The over-dramatic withdrawal of the knife flicked blood up Jack’s clothes and face. It pooled over his arm, spilling over the sides and spreading across the desk.

Dark gave no fucks, moving along. “For if their loved ones would be proud of them, they both should have said no.”

The knife came down again, this time into Jack’s shoulder. He kept his mouth shut, wincing and throwing his head to the opposite side and moaning through the pain. That was the one he didn’t answer, right? So far, so good for Mark. Was he seriously about to get a perfect score?

“For if they were satisfied with their performances so far, they both should have said no.”

_What?_

Jack braced himself for impact.

He didn’t have to. Anti brought the knife down into Mark’s arm instead.

_Oh, fuck!_

It pierced completely through to the table, and flung blood at his eyes as it was yanked out. The scream that it drew out of him was one of the highest-pitched Mark had ever heard out of himself, louder even that the ones from any of the bullshit he endured previously. His pulse throbbed in the spot, spurting out with each beat. He wiped his face with his other wrist.

“For if they were ready to kill each other...” No fucks. “...they both should have said yes.”

Anti stared at the tests. Fat drops of blood stained both of the papers now. How the hell could Anti still read them? “They’re both right.”

**Jack wants me dead. I have no reason to pity him. Yes. He-**

Mark squeezed his eyes shut as he forced the thought out. It definitely didn't _feel_ like his own thoughts. It didn't feel like his own voice telling him these things. Something was different, even if he couldn't put his finger on the how or the what or the why.

Anti was too busy staring at the tests to notice.

“For if they were scared, Mark should have said no, and Jack should have said yes.”

Eyes flicking back and forth. “Come on, guys, you’re s’posed to get more wrong than this.”

 _That was the one I was forced to answer no on, right?_ Was Dark seriously somehow influencing him to answer a certain way so he’d win? Didn’t surprise him at all that Dark was a cheater. But that meant...

Mark only had one stab. Jack had two. He was forced to answer a certain way on the last one, too. That meant... That meant he wouldn’t get stabbed! That meant he was going to win this!

“For if they had any regrets in life, they both should have said yes.”

_Wait, what-_

The knife came down into Mark’s shoulder, delivering a sickening _squelch_ right in his ear. Mark cringed away, gritting his teeth, breathing heavily, and letting the tears fall.

There went that theory.

Anti grabbed Jack’s forearm, sending the latter flinching away as he plunged the knife down.  _Wait-!_

And stopped it in midair.

“Heheh. Just kidding. You got that one right.” Anti gave Jack’s arm a playful shake, spreading more blood across the underside of it.

Jack wasn’t exactly amused.

“Well, well, well.” Dark stood between them, hands on their shoulders. “You were so worried about tying, and yet you tied.”

“Coulda gotten more wrong,” Anti said. “I was all hyped up and everything.”

“I should point out, though, that Jack received a hefty penalty during this challenge for failing to answer a question in time.”

Jack said nothing, only slumped in his chair. Anti, too, seemed rather disappointed.

Did that mean...?

_Did that mean...!?_

**It does.**

“We’ll bandage up your arm wounds and send you back to your room. Jack, the wound delivered to your face will be left as is. Today, Anti and I will calculate your final scores, and tonight, we will hold the ceremony.”

 

* * *

 

It was like they both knew what was going to happen tonight.

As they sat getting their arms wrapped, Mark couldn’t stop looking at how Jack carried himself. Broken, defeated, hopeless. Versus Mark, who was growing increasingly anxious and restless. It was going to be Mark who was going to go home. It was going to be Mark who was going to make it out of this hell.

It was going to be Mark who was going to kill Jack.

...No. He didn't feel good or ready or even neutral about it. There was definitely something going on.

Maybe...

Maybe he could  **let it happen.**

 

* * *

 

Mark nearly jumped out of the tub when Dark opened the door to his bathroom. While he was taking a bath. Because _of course_. Dude just wanted another sneak peek, was all. Nothing weird or wrong about that.

“Mark,” he whispered. “I have something for you.”

_It seriously better not be your dick._

“I’m going to need you to come with me. But you need to stay quiet. Don’t alert Jack.”

Mark’s gut was screaming at him to do exactly that. He furiously shook his head, scared of what Dark might do if he refused _too_ much.

“Mark.” Oddly, Dark was more calm than angry. He approached the tub and kneeled down before him, eye-to-eye. _Nononononono._ “I’m not here to punish you. I’m here to **reward** you.”

He gripped Mark’s chin and subdued him before he could scream for Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL NOT BE ANY SEX ACTS NEXT CHAPTER. DARK IS JUST A MASSIVE CREEP.
> 
> (I’m really nervous because, fun fact, this is the very first multi-chapter fic I’ll ever finish. Fingers crossed the ending doesn’t disappoint.)
> 
> (...honestly, fingers crossed this chapter didn't disappoint. This whole challenge was pretty... tame in comparison. I was aiming for something more emotionally manipulative than physically abusive and I can't help but feel I missed the mark.)
> 
> ~~(hehe... "mark")~~
> 
> **[Changes: Jack only has one eye removed instead of two. Minor subsequent changes in dialogue and action. Jack and Mark are stabbed in the shoulders rather than the wrists during the evaluation.]**


End file.
